She'd Never Go Out With Me, Dean
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Dean's matchmaking attempts spell hurt and humiliation for his little brother when he inadvertently sets him up with the date from Hell.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was enjoying the attention of the cute brunette as he stood at the bar pulling on his beer. She was just his type, friendly but not over-eager. And she held her own in a conversation. Dean was picturing good things in his future, or at least in his next few hours, when his eyes made their routine scan over to where Sam sat alone in a booth on the restaurant side of the bar.

Sam was staring straight at Dean and the girl with an expression that Dean couldn't quite place; it was part longing, part sadness, and it almost brought tears to Dean's eyes just like that.

Damn. When did his little brother invent that face? It was entirely new and uncharted. And as familiar as Dean was with every bitchface his 16-year-old brother had perfected over the years, this one was a complete surprise.

When Sam saw Dean look his way, he smiled faintly and returned to the homework that was open on the table in front of him, scribbling comfortably away. He took a casual sip of his soda and ran his hand unconsciously through his hair, creating instant chaos. Dean could tell he was unaware of the intent way he'd been staring or of the effect it had on his big brother. But all of a sudden, the thought of another meaningless hook-up with another nameless girl while his little brother grew another hour older - alone and locked up in some seedy motel room - didn't feel so appealing anymore. He quickly made his apologies and extricated himself from the situation as gracefully as possible and made his way over to the little brother who meant more to him than even he was comfortable admitting.

"Heya Sammy." Dean smiled, sitting across from Sam in the booth.

Sam smiled, "Time for me to go?" He asked, beginning to gather up his belongings.

And just like that, Dean felt like the biggest waste of breath on the planet. The fact that Sam was used to the drill - waiting patiently by while Dean hooked up with some girl only to be dismissed back to the room alone when the girl said yes - suddenly made it difficult for Dean to breathe. He was used to dragging Sam along on the beginning of these merry adventures, only to desert him when things got steamy.

And Sam just took it. He didn't think anything was wrong with being ditched by his big brother time and time again in lieu of what Sam undoubtedly felt was a better opportunity. When did Sam get his adventure, Dean suddenly wondered? When did he ever get the chance to meet a cute girl and experience the thrill of engaging in a flirty conversation? The only girls Sam ever got to meet were at school, and they moved around so much that even that opportunity barely presented itself. Add to that the fact that Sam was painfully shy, and it all just came together to spell lonely.

Dean studied his brother as he set about gathering up his text and composition books to return to their room alone where he'd probably watch crap TV for an hour or two before rolling over and lying there awake, thinking about everything bad thing under the sun. On these nights, Dean knew that Sam never slept until Dean returned safe. Even if he had to be up at seven for school, and Dean didn't come staggering in until the wee hours. Only when Dean was safely inside, the door locked behind him and on his bed taking off his boots did he ever hear Sam's breathing even out in sleep.

Damn, Dean was a dick.

How had he never seen it before now?

"Yep, time for you to go, little brother." He winked. "You feel like pizza?"

Sam stopped what he was doing. "Hunh?"

"I was thinking maybe we could hit that pizza joint we passed back on the edge of town. It had a killer arcade. What do you say, little bro? You up for shooting some aliens? Maybe taking out a few zombies? Not the real kind." He added affectionately.

Sam looked confused. "You coming in or dropping off?" He asked.

Dean tried not to let it show how much that innocent question hurt him. "I'm coming along, dude. You think I'm letting you eat all that pizza alone, you're crazy." He messed with Sam's hair in that way he knew Sam hated.

Sam pushed his brother's hand away good-naturedly and his slow and appreciative grin just then melted Dean's heart in a way no girl ever could. It was almost too much to bear. Dean had to look away for a moment to hide the tears that suddenly welled in the backs of his eyes.

He snorted then and launched Sam's empty backpack at his head, "Pack it up, Einstein. Pepperoni awaits."


	2. Winds Like a Hurricane

The pizza place was a nice change from the angsty atmosphere of the bar, and Dean found himself wondering why he didn't bring his kid brother to places like this more often. The dining room was clean and well lit and half-filled with families who'd made the easy decision to dine out for a late dinner. But it was the arcade that caught and held Sam's attention, and Dean enjoyed just watching him go.

Sam moved from machine to machine, pointing out all the best ones to his brother and advising him on which ones would net them the most tickets. According to Sam, they had killer keychains at the prize desk, and if they worked together and then pulled their tickets, they could get one and share it. Dean had no idea how Sam knew all of this, considering he couldn't remember the last time either of them had indulged in the sort of downtime that included blowing off steam in something so innocent as an arcade, but he was enjoying the show nonetheless.

Sam looked like he was 12 again. He looked … happy.

Dean hadn't seen that unguarded, uninhibited look on his brother's face in years. And all it had taken to bring it back was one night where Dean didn't put his owns wants and needs selfishly ahead of his brother's.

He gave himself another mental kick in the ass.

"Hey, I'm gonna order our pizza. You go get started." Dean said, heading for the food counter. But Sam just nodded, already distracted by a game of skeeball.

Dean walked away, grinning and shaking his head. He suddenly felt more like a proud dad than he did an older brother.

And when he reached the counter, his grinned kicked up a notch. The girl taking the orders looked to be about 19, and she was easily the prettiest girl had ever laid eyes on. When it was his turn to order, Dean cranked the Winchester charm up to blinding.

"Can I help you?" She asked smiling, pen posed over the printed order form.

"Yeah, can we get a pizza? Half meat-lover's, half veggie crap?"

She chuckled. "Yep. Half meat, half crap it is." She checked off two boxes on the form. "Anything to drink?"

"Two sodas."

The girl nodded. "That everything?" She made a move toward the register to ring him up.

Dean nodded, "Well, that and some good conversation." He smiled that high-voltage, Dean Winchester smile as he fished out his wallet. "I'm here with my little brother. We're new in town, and it'd sure be nice to hear about the sites?"

The girl studied Dean for a moment, liking what she saw. She shrugged coyly. "Sure. Come find me later and I'll give you my number. You can call the next time you feel like sightseeing."

Dean grinned. "I'll do that, uh … Janie." He glanced down at her name tag. "I'm Dean by the way."

She smiled. "Your pizza should be out in a few minutes, Dean." She handed him the receipt and a numbered paper cone for the table "You can sit over in the arcade if you want. Put this on the table so Jay can find you, and he'll bring it out."

Dean winked. "Will do. Thanks." He moved away and went back in search of Sam. He found him engaged in a raucous game of air hockey with an adorable girl who looked to be just about Sam's age.

And he was laughing.

Sam was laughing. He was laughing and playing air hockey with a girl and exchanging witty conversation like he'd been doing it all his life. Suddenly Dean wondered if he should have brought along the holy water. Sam glanced up then and saw him and nodded.

"Almost done," He called.

Dean shrugged. "Take your time, little brother. Pizza's on it's way." Dean picked a quiet table away from the worst of the chaos and placed the cone squarely in the middle. He'd no sooner sat down than the drinks arrived, with the pizza only a few minutes behind it. He'd pulled one long, luscious, stringy slice onto his plate when Sam thumped breathlessly down across from him.

"I'm starving." Sam blurted out, flipping the hair out of his eyes and bypassing his plate to lift the slice right to his lips. "This looks good, Dean. Thanks for getting veggie lover's." He said with his mouth full.

"Dude. Trainwreck." Dean complained.

"What? This?" Sam opened his mouth wide to show the carnage and then grinned at his brother's disgusted look.

Dean shook his head. "What are you? Twelve?"

"Nope. Not twelve. Just suddenly starving. I can't remember the last time I was this hungry." Sam took a long sip of his soda.

Dean smiled. If arcades were going to be this good for Sam's notoriously picky appetite, he'd have to make sure to hunt them down every chance he got.

"So, who's the girl?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Bonnie."

Dean mentally sighed. Sometimes his brother could be so clueless. "Yeah, and?"

"And what?"

"So you know her or what?"

"Yeah, seen her at school. She's cool."

"Yeah?" Dean prodded. "You, uh, you like her?"

Sam shrugged. "She's just nice is all. She's in a few of my classes."

But their conversation just then was interrupted by none other than Bonnie herself. She stopped at their table and nodded at Dean, then turned to Sam. "Hey Sam, quick! The Hurricane Blitz is free. It's eight tokens but we could share?"

Sam abandoned his slice and looked at Dean. "Oh! Yeah! We've been waiting on the Hurricane Blitz for a while." He explained. "It's had a line the whole time. You mind?" He asked Dean, already rising.

Dean shook his head. "Go for it, little bro." He watched as the pair navigated their way across the room to a tiny glass booth clearly meant for one. They each fed four coins in and then crowded inside together. Rising wind buffeted the two as they huddled together, laughing. And Dean had to chuckle as the simulated 70 mile-per-hour wind got hold of Sam's ridiculous hair. He heard Bonnie squeal as the counter quickly counted up to 72 and then stopped, holding. The couple inside the booth held on to each other for dear life as their hair and clothes whipped around them.

Dean could hear Sam's telltale, all-out laugh from across the room.

As quickly as it started then, it was over. And Sam and Bonnie were back at the table, laughing and talking over each other in their excitement to explain to Dean just how hurricane-force winds felt. And Dean was taken by surprise when Sam stepped aside to let Bonnie slide into the booth ahead of him. Sam scooted the plate he hadn't bothered to use over to her and leaned toward Dean as she grabbed a slice off the veggie side of their pizza.

"Dean! You have to try the Hurricane Blitz!" Sam practically gushed. "It's crazy!" He picked his abandoned slice up off the tray and tore off a huge bite, talking around it. "I thought it was going to blow us right out of the booth."

"And it only went up to 72!" Bonnie explained, excitedly. "Imagine if they could find a way to do the cat-5 winds. Those are over 150 miles per hour." She took a bite and talked around it, just like Sam. "That will blow your house down and uproot all your telephone poles nicely!" She looked at Sam just then and he looked back.

"Schweeeet!" they both said together and laughed like crazy people.

Dean was sure the boy sitting across from him in the booth was possessed. Where was his moody, emo brother - the one with the sad eyes and the nonexistent appetite? And who was this new kid who was laughing and talking easily to a near stranger - a girl no less - and who looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself?

This wasn't Sam.

This was some vastly improved, normal childhood Sam - some kid who lived in a real house and walked into the same school in the same town every morning. This Sam knew how to smile and to laugh and to have fun, and he'd probably never had to kill a single wendigo or exorcise even one angry spirit ever in his life.

Dean's eyes watered up again and he had to take an emergency drink of soda to keep from choking up. Would this night ever stop making him want to cry? He sat there smiling and laughing along with the two excited kids across from him in the booth as such a feeling of loss welled over him that he could barely contain it. And he had a sudden epiphany.

This was the kind of life Sam was meant to have - one filled with pizza and arcade games, with friends and laughter. This … this moment in time was so above their typical dingy motel room existence that Dean couldn't even process everything he was feeling.

Bonnie's dad rolled over to their table just then, though, and suddenly all the lights went out in the house.

"What the hell is this?" He barked.

Dean frowned as Bonnie suddenly jumped guiltily and dropped her half-eaten slice of pizza on her plate. "Dad!" she blurted. "Dad, this is Sam from school. And that's his brother. We were just talking."

The man practically snarled at them. "I know who they are." He made a rude gesture for Sam to stand up, which he did immediately. Dean rose too, suddenly afraid the man was going to sucker punch his little brother.

"Let's go!" He barked at his daughter, reaching into the booth and grabbing her roughly by the wrist. "You're not gonna be seen sitting cozily in a corner booth with two boys - these two, no less."

Dean's eyes narrowed as Sam blinked in surprise. "Mr. Haliday, we were just talk…" Sam tried to explain, but the irate man was having none of it. He ignored Sam and addressed Dean. "I work at that bar in the middle of town. You think I haven't seen you both in there night after night, trying to hustle pool and hook up?" He turned on Sam then, snarling, "You stay away from my daughter, or I"ll make your life a living hell. You got that?" He dragged Bonnie away then as she shot Sam one horrified, apologetic look, and Dean watched as the two exited the pizza place and headed across the parking lot.

Sam suddenly looked lost. He glanced over at Dean and swallowed hard, and Dean could tell he was trying not to cry. They both sat back down in silence, and Dean tried to make it better.

"Sam …" He started.

But Sam just shrugged and smiled sadly, fiddling with his napkin, "It's no big deal, Dean. Don't worry about it. He doesn't know us. Not really. He has no idea what we're really like."

Dean took a drink of soda to crush the emotions rising in his throat. "So, you wanna finish up there and see if you can beat my score in skeeball?" He offered. "Although, I gotta say, my score is pretty phenomenal." He smiled.

Sam looked toward the window, and Dean knew it was because his eyes were tearing up and he didn't want his big brother to see. He cleared his throat. "I think I just wanna go back to the motel Dean, if you don't mind?" He looked at Dean pleadingly. "I think I'm getting a headache."

Dean nodded. "Okay. You want me to box that up?" He gestured to the two slices of pizza remaining. They were both veggie lover's.

But Sam shook his head. "Nah, I'm done." he said, rising from the booth. "Do you mind if we just go now?"

So Dean slid out from the booth where his brother had been laughing just moments before and tried not to think about the happiness in Sam's eyes and the rumble of his all-out laughter that had been so effectively quelled by the harsh words of Bonnie's dad.

And as they left, Sam reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the impressive string of tickets he'd won. He handed them to the little boy sitting with his mother at a table next to the door and smiled.

"They have some killer keychains." he said, and winked.


	3. The Best Person I Know

When they got back to the dingy motel, which just felt wrong after all the bright white and shiny surfaces of the pizza joint, Dean tried once again to apologize. He waited til Sam had taken his shower and was reclining comfortably on his bed. and when Sam reached for the dog-eared copy of "Christine" that he'd been working his way through for days, Dean cleared his throat.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up, "Hunh?"

Dean was so bad at these girly talks that Sam seemed to love so much. "Uh, hey. I'm … uh. Well, I'm sorry."

Sam was confused, "For what?"

"You know, back at the arcade. You were actually having some of that normal you're always craving and then I had to go and mess it up for you." Dean looked away.

Silence.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Dean."

"Yeah?" He risked a glance. Sam looked pissed.

"What part of that … shitstorm … could possibly be your fault?"

"What?" Now it was Dean's turn to be confused.

"I mean, it's not like we have a whole lot of choices. You have to hustle pool if we want to eat. I mean, it's not like Dad ever actually leaves us enough money to last til he decides to come home. If he decides to come home."

"Sam …"

"And I guess you could outright steal the money to buy the things your pain-in-the-ass brother needs to survive. You could be out there shaking down drunks in dark alleys trying to score enough for a bottle of headache pills."

"Sam! What the hell?"

"No," Sam shook his head, getting pissier by the minute. "Guys like that? Like Bonnie's dad? They have no idea, Dean. They don't know what it's like to lay awake at night wondering whether tonight will be the night your brother tries to hustle the wrong guys and gets his ass kicked just so you can have your Lucky Charms with real milk instead of water in the morning."

Dean was horrified.

"And they don't have to work up the courage over and over again to walk into a strange bar and scope out who's capable of killing you if you slip up and who would only kick your ass." Sam was on a roll now. "They don't have to wait up for the sound of your brother's key in the door and getting more and more panicky by the minute because suddenly you're sure he's lying dead in a trunk somewhere or worse and wondering what the hell you're supposed to do without him because he's the only damn thing that's keeping you sane in your life that totally sucks ass in every other possible way."

Dean sat with his mouth open, stunned. He'd had no idea Sam suffered like this.

"So you hustle guys at pool and flirt with girls. Big fucking deal. You could be out selling yourself or pimping out your sixteen-year-old brother for cash. Maybe that would make guys like Bonnie's dad feel better. Because you know what, Dean? Guys like that? They'd be the first ones in line."

Dean's eyes flared with anger. "That shit's not funny, Sam." He growled.

"So don't you dare blame yourself for the ignorant words that came out of that bigot's mouth tonight, Dean. You hear me? Just … don't."

The silence was loud and awkward when Sam finished his tirade, and it took every ounce of courage Dean had to cut through it. He stood up and moved over to sit on Sam's bed and look his brother in the eye, but damned if the words would come.

But then suddenly Sam was beside him on the bed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder like Dean was used to doing for Sam when he was at a loss for words.

"I see the sacrifices you make for me, Dean - the sacrifices you make for dad. I get it. I do. And I wish to God you didn't have to do half the things you have to do. So don't you ever … ever let some asshole like that make you feel like what you go through every day of your life isn't honorable. You're the best person I know, Dean. And I just … I just wish I could do more to make things easier for you, you know?"

Dean was having trouble breathing.

"When … when he turned to you and talked to you like you … you were nothing." Sam's voice shook. "I swear to God, Dean. I've never really thought about wanting to kill an actual person before in my life, but I think tonight … I think tonight I could have and … not blinked an eye. It sort of scared me, you know?"

Dean's eye were wet with tears, and it pissed him off that this day had finally gotten the better of him after all. He shook his head. "Sammy .." He said brokenly, unable to continue.

Sam took his hand away and shoulder bumped his big brother. "Sorry for the chick flick moment," he laughed nervously, swiping at his own eyes.

"Hell, Sammy." Dean tried to joke gruffly. "That wasn't a moment. That was a full-on double feature with popcorn."


	4. Small World

Dean was early picking Sam up from school the next day. It would be another 20 minutes before he'd hear the bell inside the school ring and see his little brother spill out the doors along with the other hundreds of teenagers intent on escaping to freedom.

It still made Dean feel like shit when he remembered all the secrets Sam had revealed the night before. He was determined that, from this point on, he would do better to ensure that his brother got more enjoyment out of life. Granted, he had limited authority whenever Dad was in town, but Dad wasn't in town right now. He was two towns away, fighting the good fight with Caleb and Bobby against what was probably a werewolf. And while Dean normally hated to miss out on a good hunt, this time he was secretly relieved that Dad had asked him to stay behind and look after Sam.

Because Dean had big plans.

Today, he was taking Sam to the bowling alley and then out for Chinese food. And then after, maybe they'd rent a movie and hang out in the motel, bingeing on crap food and just being brothers.

It was so rare that they got to do that these days.

But Dean still had a little cash left over from his foray to the bar the other night, and he planned to enjoy the time he had left before he had to go back and do it all over again. Ever since Sam's admission about how much he worried when Dean went out at night, he was determined to cut back on his evening adventures. He'd still have to go - sure - if they still wanted to eat; Sam was right about that. But he didn't plan to go until he had too. Until then, he and his little bro would spend quality time together, just being … normal.

"Dean, right?"

Dean was startled out of his revery by … Janie? Odd coincidence.

"Oh! Hey, yeah. Janie, right?" He stood up a little taller as he leaned against the side of the Impala.

"Yeah!" She was all smiles. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my brother." Dean offered.

"Yeah? That's funny. I'm waiting for my little sister."

"Oh yeah? Small world." Dean flashed his million-watt smile.

And it worked. He could tell.

"So," Janie said, joining him against the car. "How old is your brother?"

"He's sixteen."

"Yeah? Alisha too. Hey, it'd be funny if they knew each other."

Dean nodded, already planning his next move. Surprisingly, he wouldn't need it.

"What's your brother's name?"

"Sam."

Janie's mouth dropped open. "Sam? Really?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah, why?" He must have sounded a little defensive because Janie suddenly stammered.

"Oh-oh, nothing. It's just that Alisha talks all the time about this guy, Sam. What a cutie he is, how smart he is. She's really gone on him."

Dean stared back at her, a vague idea forming in his head.

"Is your brother really tall? Dark hair? Lots of bangs?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds like him."

"Man, Alisha would die if she knew I went out with Sam's big brother." she shoulder-bumped him and grinned. "That's a hint, by the way. You never did ask me for my number."

Dean grinned back. "Yeah, sorry about that. Something came up."

"So?"

"So, you wanna get together? Tomorrow maybe?"

"I do. Call me." and she pressed a slip of paper into his hand.

Inside the school, the bell went off.

"Well, hey. It was nice running into you again." Janie said, moving away to stand next to a blue Honda.

"Yeah, you too." Dean nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow." He turned to watch the ocean of kids pour forth. He was looking for Sam, but suddenly, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of Alisha too. He knew his brother's type, and he was curious to see if she fit the bill. And when he saw the slight blond with the curls run up to Janie's car and jump into the passenger seat, he grinned.

"Hey Dean." Sam was suddenly standing next him. And next to Sam stood Bonnie - all dark hair and dimples.

"Hey little bro. Hey Bonnie." Dean greeted the pair, hiding his surprise at seeing the girl again.

"Hey, Dean? You think we could give Bonnie a ride?" Sam asked hesitantly, seeing his brother's eye widen for an instant and recognizing it for what it was. "She needs to go to the library. It's about ten blocks over, and it's going to start raining any second?"

Dean stood staring at the hopeful looks on both their young faces and knew he was about to have a lapse in judgment.

"Well, I don't know." He said, looking at Bonnie. "You think your old man will try to rearrange my face?"

But Bonnie just laughed, and when she did, her eyes sort of lit up like beacons and Dean noticed that Sam was suddenly very interested in what she had to say. "Naw, Daddy's all bark and hardly any bite. He's over all that now."

"Hardly any bite, she says." Dean repeated, and rolled his eyes. "Sure. Get in." He told them. "I know I'm gonna live to regret this." He moved to open the driver's door.

On the other side, Sam opened the front door and motioned for Bonnie to slide in. Then he slid in next to her.

Dean sighed silently, "Well isn't this all just cozy?" He thought to himself, as he steered out onto the street and into what he hoped wouldn't turn out to be a hornet's nest.


	5. Sam, You Know an Alisha?

After dropping Bonnie uneventfully at the library, Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Hunh?" Sam looked up from fiddling with the broken zipper on his backpack.

"You think that's … wise? Hanging around with Bonny? You know what …"

But Sam cut him off. "I know what her dad said, and I don't care one bit. Bonnie is nothing like that asshole. And anyway," he added grinning. "Even if she was, I'd still hang around with her just to piss him off cause I hate him just that much."

Dean looked over at his brother and snorted. "Your funeral, little bro."

"Damn right."

"What's with all the swearing, dude? You suddenly turn thirty or something and I missed it?"

Sam grinned again. "My big brother is a bad influence."

"Your big brother is awesome." Dean returned, puffing out his chest.

Sam looked over, "Well," he smiled, "You got me there."

"Chick moment. Sam. Chick moment."

Sam suddenly realized they were headed in the opposite direction of the motel. "Where are we?"

"Oh, I thought we'd go bowling."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Bowling?"

"Yeah. Bowling. Why? Something wrong with bowling?"

"You mean other than the fact that we've never been?

"I've bowled before, bitch. You were just too snot-nosed to remember."

Sam snickered softly. "Dean. You've never bowled."

Dean changed the subject. "Hey Sam?"

"Hm?"

"You got any other Sam's in your class?"

"Sam Rodgers?

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Just wondering. Is that Sam tall, dark hair, bangs?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"She's captain of the debate team. Why'd you ask?"

"Oh! Okay." Dean was back in the game.

"How about an Alisha? You know an Alisha?"

Sam thought, "There's an Alisha Tucker."

"Hmm. Kinda short? Blond curls?"

Sam nodded. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"This is getting weird, even for you."

Dean snorted. "Relax, dude. I'm not into jailbait. I just have it on good authority that a girl named Alisha has a thing for a guy named Sam."

"What! Who says?"

"Her sister. She was the girl working the counter at the pizza place. I don't know, Sam. There's just something about her, you know?" Dean's voice trailed off for a moment, then came back. "Her name's Janie, and I just ran into her again a few minutes ago. She was waiting to pick up her sis and happened to mention the whole Sam thing."

Sam thought about that. "How does a whole Sam thing just happen to come up? You been talking about me, Dean?" He sounded hurt.

Dean heard the betrayal. "What? No! You know I'd never talk about you with strangers, right?"

Silence..

"Sam?"

"Well, I did." Sam was quickly falling into bitch mode. Abort!

Dean sighed. "It wasn't like that, Sammy. She asked why I was there. I said 'picking up my brother.' She said 'What's his name?' I said, 'Sam.' That's all. I swear. She added the rest."

"So, um, what'd she say exactly?"

Aha! Dean knew he had Sam's curiosity piqued now. "She said her little sister Alisha had it bad for a guy named Sam who was tall, dark hair and had bangs."

"Bangs?"

"Big Bangs."

"Dean, guys don't have bangs."

"Dude. You have bangs. Trust me on this."

Sam was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. "Well, it can't be me." He concluded.

"What! Why not?"

"Dean," Sam explained patiently, "She's a cheerleader."

"So?"

Sam sighed again. "Dean, I'm not like you, okay? I can't just nod and the ladies come running."

Dean smirked a little. He did seem to have that effect. It was nice somebody had noticed.

"What?" He barked, disturbed by his little brother's apparent lack of confidence.

Sam looked at Dean and made an exaggerated gesture that said, "Look at me."

Dean was flabbergasted. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

Dean was going to have to spell it out. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Why?"

"Sam," Dean was quickly reaching the level of exasperation. "How can you not know what a good looking kid you are?"

"You only think that because you're my brother."

"That sounded so wrong on so many levels, dude."

Sam snorted.

"It's true though. She's a cheerleader. I'm … me. I like books and libraries and my laptop. She'd never go out with me, Dean."

"Well, say she would?"

"And?"

"And I have a date with her big sister tomorrow night. Maybe we could make it a double? Do something fun for a change?"

Sam stared at his brother liked he'd lost his damned mind. "You're setting me up?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" He looked at Sam, "Would you?"

"Double date? With you?"

"Yeah."

Sam stared and then turned back to face the window. "Yeah, I'm not ready." He mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I'm not ready!"

"For what?"

"For … for what you do on dates, Dean!"

"Son of a …!" Dean slammed on the brakes and rolled the car over to the curb. "Sam! What the hell? What kind of a person do you think I am? You think I'm trying to get you laid? You're 16 for God's sake!"

Not that Dean hadn't been … experienced … at 16, but Sam was right - his brother was not him.

"Well, what then?"

"Just … just … I don't know. Can't we just go out together and get something to eat and maybe play a round of mini golf or something? Just … be normal until Dad gets back and ruins everything?"

Sam snorted again. He shrugged.

Dean stared at his brother sitting there, looking all kinds of embarrassed and a little bit pissed and wished he'd never stuck his neck in this particular noose. "You know I'd never push you to do something you weren't … ready for, right?"

And damn if Sam didn't blush.

"Sam." This was just getting worse and worse. "Honestly, That wasn't what I meant at all. I swear."

Sam shuffled uncomfortably and stared out the window, unwilling to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean relented, "Look, just forget it, okay? If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to go. I just thought you might like getting out with someone from school and, you know, not hanging around the motel every night." He pulled back out into traffic. "But I can call her and beg off. We'll do something else instead."

Sam glanced over, "So if I don't go, you don't go?"

Dean nodded and grinned. "Yep. That's right, little bro. We'll make it boy's night out instead."

Sam was silent for a few miles and then made a decision. "We'll go then." He said determinedly.

"Hunh?"

"I'll go. I mean, if she wants me too. Might be fun."

"Really?"

Sam shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

Dean grinned again. "Little bro's first date, and it's with a cheerleader. You make me proud, Sammy."

Sam smiled.

"Ah, this is going to be epic."


	6. Shaving Lesson

Dean awoke the next morning to Sam hogging the bathroom, which was unusual. Typically, Sam was in and out, hating to waste time on anything that wasn't books or research. But this morning was Saturday, and they usually slept in on Saturdays when Dad wasn't around, and Dean had to wonder what the hell Sam was doing in there that was taking so long. He wasn't sure how much longer his bladder was going to cooperate.

"Sam!" he thumped on the door once. "Zip it up! I gotta go!"

The door opened instantly and Sam peeked out, swathed in shaving cream and holding Dad's old straight razor. "Oh, sorry." He apologized, stepping out and waiting off to the side. "Didn't realize I'd been this long."

Dean stared at the spectacle before him and tried not to snicker. He ducked his head to hide the shit-eating grin that he couldn't stop and closed the door quick behind him. He emptied his bladder, shaking his head in silent glee. It was hilarious til Dean turned around to wash his hands and got a look at the sink and the drops of blood that speckled the basin like paint. Suddenly, he wasn't smiling anymore.

"Sam!" He threw the door open and grabbed his brother by both shoulders. "You bleeding? Let me see?"

"Well, only a little." Sam confessed. "I watched a video on how to use a straight razor, but I can't seem to make it do what it's supposed to." He said forlornly.

Dean stared at the kid, "Why didn't you just ask?" He shook his head, taking the razor from Sam and placing it back on the sink. "That old thing's about as sharp as dirt. It's probably like trying to shave with an old shoe." He turned to the dresser and rummaged through his bag, pulling out his electric razor. "You're lucky you didn't gut yourself."

Dean pushed Sam back into the bathroom and tossed him a towel. "First, wipe all that crap off. That stuff is for old dudes like Dad."

Once Sam had wiped the shaving cream away, Dean had a better look at the nicks he'd made on his neck. He whistled. "Damn, Sammy, you came a little too close to cutting something important there. No more rusty straight razor, okay? You can use mine til we get you one of your own."

"Is-isn't that gross? Using someone else's razor?" Sam asked hesitantly, worried about Dean.

"Dude, I wiped your ass for the first two and a half years of your life. I think we can share a razor for a few days."

Sam grimaced. "Nice." He pouted.

Dean snorted. "You think you made a mess here …" He started.

"Yeah. I get it." Sam cut him off, bitchfacing.

Dean grinned. He washed and dried his hands and then stood in front of the mirror with the electric razor. "Here, watch me do it." He said.

Twenty minutes and a dozen OCD-Sam questions later, and the shaving lesson was complete. Dean was glad. Damn, Sam could take something easy and make it complicated. Secretly, though, he was happy that his little brother was taking the extra care. That meant he was actually looking forward to tonight.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean looked up from fishing clean clothes out of his duffle.

"You think I could get a new pair of jeans? These two are kinda looking bad."

Dean stared. He couldn't remember one time in his life ever that Sam had actually asked for new clothes unless it was gym stuff that he needed for school. But when Sam held up the ratty pair of jeans that comprised half of his wardrobe, Dean's eyes narrowed.

Shit. Those looked terrible. Looked like the dirt was the only thing holding them together.

"Damn, Sam. How long you been wearing those?"

Sam thought. "Well, I've been switching off between the two, but about a week, I guess."

Dean stood calculating. He knew how much money he had left and he knew about what dinner and a night out for four was going to cost, and suddenly he felt like shit.

Sam read his face like a book. "No, it's okay." He backpedaled, shooting Dean a smile. "You know what? I'll just wash 'em with some bleach at the laundromat. That will perk them up enough."

But Dean was thinking. He looked down at his own meager stack of belongings. "I wonder if you could wear these? They were too tight last time I tried 'em." He held the faded Levis up for Sam's perusal. He tossed them over. "Here. Give these a try?"

But when Sam pulled the baggy jeans on over his boxers and buttoned them up, they slid back down his hips. He stood looking down sadly, "Maybe a belt?" he wondered, looking up for Dean's opinion.

But Dean took one look at Sam standing there with that hopeful look on his face with his hair all wet and crazy, and dots of toilet paper stuck to his neck, and jeans that were too wide and too short to fit his rangy frame, and he felt a giggle building. Then Sam shifted minutely, and his jeans dropped altogether to pool in a messy pile around his ankles, and Dean's mouth began to twitch.

"Dean. Don't." Sam said, shaking his head.

And that was all it took.

Dean doubled over, howling.

Sam tried to be insulted, "Dean, you're such a shit …" he started. But then Dean snorted and snot shot out his nose, and it was all over. Sam giggled.

And when Sam did his patented, little-girl giggle, it made Dean laugh that much harder, and then suddenly neither one could speak for the helpless laughter that rocked them.

Yeah, Dean thought. This is going to be epic. Then he flopped face down on the bed and roared.


	7. Night Gone Wrong

They walked into the recreation center and stopped dead. The place was so big it felt imposing. One whole side was an eatery that hosted families and teens, while another housed a traditional Irish pub. And all along the perimeter was a host of other activities for customers of all ages - a dance floor, an arcade, a skating rink. There was even a mechanical bull in one corner - capturing the attention of the redneck crowd - and in another, a full-size bookstore complete with cafe and tables.

"Damn." Dean remarked. "They sell maps to this place?"

"Where are we meeting them?" Sam asked, glancing around nervously. He felt a little self conscious in the new thrift store jeans and crisp button-down shirt, but Dean was damned if he was going to deny his little brother the one time he asked for something so simple. And besides, Sam looked good - damned good. Dean had a feeling this night was going to be a huge boost to his brother's self-esteem.

"In the restaurant part, wherever the hell that is."

"There." Sam pointed.

"Oh, wait." Dean suddenly remembered something. "Here, little bro." He smirked, handing Sam two twenties..

"No, it's cool. I got money." Sam said.

"Hunh? Where?"

"I've been saving up. Plus, I picked up a tutoring job during study hall."

"So how much you got?"

"Twenty."

"Oh. Well, if you need more …"

"I should be good. I just really want to try the triple-cheese pasta thing. It's like, famous."

"That why you didn't eat all day?"

"Yep. You gotta be starving to get the full experience."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're such a dork."

Sam snorted.

"Dean! Over here!" Janie was waving from a corner table in the eatery.

Dean glanced over at Sam and winked, "Batter up, little bro."

"Hi!" Janie greeted Dean, as they approached the table. "Hi Sam!"

"Hey." Sam nodded shyly.

Dean nodded. "Nice place."

Janie smiled, "It's loads of fun. Something for everyone. Alisha loves it here. So, you sitting down?"

"Yeah." Sam slid into the booth across from the girl and Dean slipped in beside her. "So, they bring menus or what?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, they will," she smiled, catching the server's eye. Then she pulled out her phone and dialed. "Hey, sis. You coming over? Yeah. Sam's here. Okay. See ya." Janie looked at Sam, "Alisha will be right over. She saw some people she knew."

"Cool." Sam wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and stole a quick look at Dean who smiled back reassuringly like he knew exactly what Sam was feeling.

The waitress came while Dean and Janie were making small talk, and Dean looked up to tell her separate checks please because he knew Sam wanted to pay for himself and his date. And then suddenly Alisha was standing next to them. Sam got up immediately and stepped away so she could slide in and sit across from her sister.

"Hi." Sam said.

Alisha looked him up and down haughtily and sniffed. "Hi." She replied unenthusiastically and immediately began talking to her sister.

Sam looked down at his menu, a little embarrassed, but determined not to start the night off on the wrong foot. He glanced down over the offerings to get a feel for the prices and was relieved to see only one or two dishes that hovered near the top of his price range. He should be fine.

But when it was Alisha's turn to order, she asked for the surf and turf and a salad and a baked potato and a fancy drink, and Sam sat silently panicking. He knew he barely had enough to cover just that, let alone a tip. He looked up at the waitress and smiled, "I'll just have coffee." he said, folding the menu closed and handing it up to her.

"You sure, sweetie?" The 50ish waitress asked, noticing that everyone else at the table had ordered actual food. Dean knee-bumped him just then and when Sam looked up, he was handing him another twenty under the table. Sam took it silently and thanked his brother with his eyes, but he didn't change his order. He wasn't sure what other activities Alisha might want to try, and he didn't want to have to tell her he was broke when the time came.

"Okay then," she smiled, collecting the rest of the menus "Food will be out in a few." She addressed Sam. "I'll bring your coffee right out, honey."

There was a brief silence at the table as she walked away, and then Dean spoke up. "So, Alisha, I hear you and Sam have some classes together?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"We have library and English." Sam explained.

She snorted. "God, those two are the worst."

Sam was surprised, "You don't like library?" He was genuinely interested. How could anyone not like library?

"Do I look like a dork?" She shot back.

Janie giggled. "Yeah, Alisha and books don't get along too well."

"Well they're boring." Alisha replied. "Who wants to sit around in a chair and turn pages all day? Dorks. That's who."

Sam didn't know what to say to that so he stayed silent, but he could practically feel the tension rolling off Dean in waves.

"Hey, Dean!" Janie said suddenly, "You ever ride a mechanical bull?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Not gonna happen."

She pretended to pout. "Why not?"

"Not my thing, baby."

"Well, maybe we could go watch, at least?" She said hopefully, and Dean took one look deep into her baby blues and relented. "Sure. We can go check it out if you want."

Sam's coffee arrived just then - not just the cup, but the whole carafe - along with a full ceramic creamer shaped like a cow.

"There ya go, sweetie," the waitress winked. "That should last you awhile."

Sam smiled up at her with genuine gratitude, and her eyes lit up like stars. She patted his shoulder. "Don't mention it, hon. That's one hundred-watt smile you got going on there lady-killer." She winked. And when Sam blushed, she laughed and ambled away.

At first Sam was glad the coffee had arrived because it gave him something to do with his hands, but then he realized he was going to have to take it black, which he hated, because otherwise it meant lifting a ceramic cow and pouring cream out of its mouth and into his cup like vomit. He flushed pink just thinking about it. So he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip instead, trying not to grimace as the strong, bitter liquid seared his throat.

"Sam, you like school?" Janie asked him suddenly

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's okay."

Beside him in the seat Alisha rolled her eyes. "God." she said. "Really?"

"What? You don't like school?" Sam asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Only losers like school, Stan."

"It's Sam." Dean corrected her darkly before Sam had the chance.

She waved a hand in the air, 'Whatever."

Sam heard Dean shift on the bench and knew he was mere inches away from losing it with Alisha and her attitude, but the food arrived just then, and they were all suddenly busy helping the waitress figure out who ordered what. Sam noticed that Dean nonchalantly positioned his plate in the center of the table on their side with the fries turned toward him as he gathered up the huge cheeseburger and took a bite. Sam took a fry and tried not to feel the disappointment rolling over him in waves. Suddenly, he felt foolish for holding out such big plans for this night. He grew quiet.

On the other side of the table, Janie and Dean were trying to keep the conversation going, but every comment either one directed to Alisha was met with scorn. Sam would have tried to help out, but he was afraid to keep trying. Alisha had quite the acid tongue, and he was a little worried where it might wander. Suddenly, she slapped him on the shoulder, hard, and he jumped.

"What?" He asked, startled.

"I said, move. I want out." She informed him rudely.

Sam slid out of the booth immediately, and Alisha instantly flounced over to a table across the room and sat down with two other girls and a boy, leaving her buffet of food untouched.

Sam sat back down and risked a glance at his brother and could instantly tell Dean was seething.

"So, your sister's not much for small talk." Dean noted icily.

Janie shrugged. "She's sixteen. Everyone goes temporarily insane when they're sixteen. Sam knows. Right Sam?"

He shrugged, "I guess." He took another sip of the hateful coffee and felt his mood sinking lower and lower. He couldn't bring himself to look at Dean or he knew he might go so far as to tear up, and that would just be the perfect end to a perfectly crappy night. When a loud peal of laughter rang out from Alisha's table, he stood up and excused himself to go to the restroom.

And when he got back to the table a few minutes later, it was empty with a hastily scrawled note on a napkin from Dean saying they'd be right back, they were checking out the mechanical bull in the corner and that Sam should come on over.

But playing third wheel once again wasn't something Sam felt like doing. He risked a glance at Alisha's table and saw that it, too, was empty, and he settled into the deserted booth with a sigh. Somehow he'd ended up all alone again. Suddenly the hated, black coffee was the last thing he wanted. And when the waitress ambled his way to see if he needed anything, he asked for the check and paid it, leaving a generous tip next to his date's untouched food. And when he dug out his wallet to pay, he saw the fake ID that Dean had made him get last year and thought, what the hell?

Sam showed his ID to the greeter and wandered into to the cozy Irish pub, taking a seat at the bar.

"Can I get a beer?" He asked, when the barmaid looked his way.

She smiled and sauntered over. "In about five years, cutie, I'd say." She said in a friendly way. But when Sam pulled out his ID again, she looked it over, looked him over and shrugged. "Coming up."

Sam took the beer and stared at it a moment before lifting it to his lips. It smelled terrible and tasted even worse, but at least it gave him something to do. Plus, sitting alone at the dark bar felt less conspicuous than sitting all alone in a bright booth designed for four. And as he sat there and drank another beer after the first, he began to feel a little less depressed and a lot more mellow. Across the room, he could see Dean and Janie as they stood laughing, watching the antics of drunk guys getting tossed from the mechanical bull. Sam felt another pang then; girls came so easy to Dean. It was like he spoke their language or something. Sam had no idea how he did it. But one thing he could picture was himself - all alone forever - with just his books and his laptop to keep him company.

Why did he have to be such a ... dork? Even Dean had called it, and that just made Sam feel worse. Sam was used to being alone, but it was only recently that the feeling had begun to bother him - feeling less like alone time and more like loneliness. He dreaded those nights when Dad was out hunting and Dean was out hustling, and it was just him and his thoughts alone together for the duration. Sam's thoughts had minds of their own, and they tended to wander more along dark, foggy tunnels than they did scamper about in the bright light of day.

He felt more morose by the minute. And that's what prompted him to switch to whiskey after his second beer because he'd seen Dean do that when he was feeling his lowest and wanted to get drunk fast. And by the time the two twenty-something guys ambled over and sat one on either side of him, Sam was mostly incoherent.

"Hi guy." the dude on the right said. "I'm Teddy."

"Hey." Sam nodded.

"You got a name there, buddy?"

"Sam."

"Well, Sam." the taller man on his other side drawled, "We've been watching you, and I gotta say, you're just about the cutest thing either of us has ever seen. Those jeans are wearing you real good. Real good."

Sam thought that sounded a little odd, but then again, he couldn't really hear all that well all of a sudden. Maybe he'd misunderstood. He remained silent.

"Hey Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Wanna move this over to a corner booth?"

Suddenly Sam wanted nothing less in the whole world. He shook his head and tried to slide down from his bar stool, but it was suddenly much farther off the ground than it had been when he'd climbed up, and he stumbled and nearly fell. Too-Tall caught him just before he went down and held onto his arm in a vise grip.

"No." Sam tried to pull away, but the first guy came around on his other side and positioned himself under Sam's arm like he was a buddy helping another buddy who'd had one too many. "Easy there, Sammy. I got you." he said, and suddenly Sam was angry. Only one person ever talked to him that way, using those exact words, and it sure wasn't this asshole who smelled like cheap aftershave and cigars.

"No!" He said again, louder and sort of desperate, trying to pull away.

And that's when Dean heard him.


	8. I'll Kill You Both Where You Stand

Dean felt panic beginning to build down deep in his stomach. He'd become so fascinated by the idiots beating themselves up on the mechanical bull that he hadn't noticed just how long he'd been standing there with Janie. Suddenly, he realized that Sam hadn't joined them. He glanced back at their table, but it had been cleared and was currently occupied by a truck driver wearing a Stihl cap and eating a steak so bloody Dean had the urge to salt and burn it.

And while he was standing there, trying to anticipate Sam's state of mind, Janie thanked Dean for the good time and said her goodbyes. Said she had to work early in the morning, and besides, it was getting late and she needed to get her sister home before her curfew.

So Dean dismissed his date, silently not thanking her for her concern over his baby brother, and wondered how he'd ever thought she was anything special to begin with.

And now it was just Dean with his spidey sense tingling, searching the enormous complex for one lost little bro.

He pulled out his phone and cursed when he realized he'd forgotten to charge the damn thing.

"Fuck! Dammit, Sam. Where are you?"

Why the hell had he agreed to come to this place that was so freaking huge anyway? He and Dad and Sam had spent their lives avoiding places just like this. And that girl he'd set Sammy up with … damn. Talk about a fucking bad date. That was one for the record books. He hoped they'd be able to laugh about it one day, but deep down, Dean worried about Sam's self-esteem after this whole debacle. This whole night had been like rubbing salt in an open wound, and he mentally kicked himself for talking his brother into this whole ugly mess.

He was about to wander outside to see if Sam had given up and just gone to read in the Impala, when suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck raised up.

"No!" Sam's voice, sounding scared and a little bit desperate.

Dean whirled, death burning in his eyes, and there stood his little brother in the pub not twenty feet away. He was being dragged from the bar toward a dark corner by two guys way older. And while they were both smiling and making cracks about their friend who'd had one too many, Dean could see how tightly they held him and how close Sam was to panic as he struggled to break away.

Dean's vision went dark.

"Son of a bitch!" he growled, charging past the greeter and confronting the trio. "Any good reason why you got your filthy hands on my brother?" he snarled, threateningly.

The pair stopped in their tracks as they eyed Dean warily.

Silence.

"Oh," nervous laughter. "Is he your brother?"

"Are you fucking deaf?"

"No, well, uh, listen. We were just helping him. He fell off his bar stool, you know. We were just getting Sam here a table."

Dean glared. Right. "That true, Sammy?" He barked.

Sam shook his head desperately. "Get 'em off! Dean ... please!" he slurred, and suddenly Dean realized his baby brother was sloshed.

He saw red.

"You get him drunk like this?" He growled, advancing. "What'd you slip him, roofies? Cause you say yes, and I'll kill you both where you stand, you hear me?"

They both let go of Sam at the same time and backed away. "No way, man. He did this to himself. We were just helping is all. You got it all wrong."

Dean wanted to chase after the sons a bitches and beat them both senseless, but suddenly Sam was pitching a little too far to the left. He dived forward to catch him before he hit the floor. "It's okay Sammy. I got you." he said, and felt his brother tense.

"No!" Sam tried to pull away.

"Sam! It's me. Listen. Just lean on me, okay? We're gonna get you out of here."

Sam turned his head to see who held him. They were almost forehead to forehead as Sam stared blearily into Dean's eyes. "Dean?" Sam blasted gasoline breath in his brother's direction.

Dean winced, "Yeah dude, it's me. I swear. Come on, let's get you home."

"Where're the grlz?"

"They had to leave. No big loss there anyway, right?" Dean maneuvered them both across the parking lot.

Sam sighed, and damned if it wasn't the saddest fucking sound Dean had ever heard. "Think I was the wrong Sam?" he offered.

"No, I think she was just a spoiled bitch." Dean countered. "Trust me, Sammy, you could have gone out with any girl in there tonight. You didn't see the looks you were getting."

Sam shuddered as Dean settled him in the front seat of the Impala. "What's wrong?"

"Strong." Sam shuddered again.

"What?"

"Too strong. Couldn't … couldn't shake them off. I hurt my arm." Sam mourned.

Dean seethed. Fucking perverts. "Let me see." He leaned into the car and ran his hand gently down Sam's right arm starting at the shoulder. He squeezed gently as he went until Sam suddenly jumped.

"Ow!"

Dean cursed. "So much for wholesome family fun." He muttered to himself as he climbed behind the wheel. "I'll look at it when we get back to the motel, okay? I can't see shit out here in the dark."

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"Wish … that ... Bonnie. Bonnie, she's a dork. Like me ... " Sam giggled.

"Dammit, Sam. You're not a dork. That Alisha chick is just one stuck-up bitch."

"Dean says I'm a dork." Sam said seriously, looking across the seat to stare at the driver who looked a lot like his big brother, come to think of it.

"Dude. Right here." Dean said. "and I don't seriously think you're a dork."

Sam kept up the serious conversation with the guy-who-looked-like-Dean, "Why can't I be like him?" He wondered, "Always knows what to say. Girls love Dean. Not dorks." He said, like it was a campaign slogan, and giggled. He leaned against the window and expelled a tired breath, closing his eyes. "Whole life … awkward." he mumbled. "hate it."

Dean sighed. "You're just sixteen, Sam. It'll pass."

"Ever … body goes crazy … sixteen." Sam muttered.

"Yeah, well, it's a shorter trip for some than it is for others." Dean noted and aimed the Impala toward home, silently hating himself and his sudden, crazy urge to try and right a whole lifetime full of wrongs in one truly disastrous, fucked-up night.


	9. Whiskey on His Brother's Breath

Sam had a hell of a bruise on his right arm just above the elbow, and Dean wished he'd had a little more time to spend with the too-tall cowboy who'd caused it. But other than that, he found no other injuries on his little brother - at least not on the outside.

"Not a lot I can do for a bruise, Sammy." he explained, "Maybe take a long soak in a hot tub instead of showers for a few days. Might take some of the soreness out." He finished rubbing in the muscle cream. "This should help a little." He sniffed the end of the tube and grimaced. "Course, you ain't going to be any too popular to anyone with a nose, little brother."

Sam watched his brother from behind sleepy eyes. He was back at the motel, propped up against the headboard of his bed, shirtless, while Dean conducted his patented post trouble-found-Sam-again inspection.

Dean dug Sam's favorite old hoodie out of his duffle then and helped him slip it over his head. He tugged it gently into place and sat staring at his brother, trying not to think too hard about all the what might have beens.

"You okay there, Sam?"

Sam smiled sleepily and nodded.

"So."

"Hmm?" Sam tried to focus bleary eyes on his brother.

"Wanna tell me how you ended up over in the bar, dude?"

Sam shrugged. "Didn't wanna be alone. Everyone left." he explained reasonably.

Dean felt guilty as hell. "Didn't you see my note? Why didn't you come join us?"

Another shrug.

What? You don't like watching drunks make assholes of themselves?" Dean teased.

Sam smiled. "I saw."

"You saw? You were watching?"

Sam nodded, "From the bar."

"So what'd you think? You going a round with a mechanical bull anytime soon?"

"Don't know. Wasn't watching the bull."

"No? What were you watching?"

"You."

Dean swallowed hard, "You were watching me? Trying to pick up a few pointers, little bro?"

Sam nodded, eyes closed. "Yeah."

"And?"

Sam slid down until he was lying on his side, "And you're Batman …" He said, and Dean thought he detected a hint of ... was that jealousy? ... as Sam's eyes drifted shut.

Dean shook his head sadly, tugging the sheet and blanket over his brother's sleeping form, "Yeah, well, guess even Batman can have an off night now and then, hunh, little brother?"

Dean studied the slight, sleeping form silently, relieved that he was safe and close by where Dean could keep an eye on him and be there for him in the morning. His brother had never had a single drink to Dean's knowledge, and Dean knew the horrors the morning held in store for the boy who lay snoring in the bed next to his. He snorted then, picturing the image of a grumpy, hung-over Sammy. He was pretty sure that had been whiskey on his brother's breath tonight. And Dean thought Sam could be pissy on a good day … He only hoped Dad decided to stay away another day or two, or things could get real interesting.

Dean moved over to his own bed and dragged out a clean t-shirt and boxers. He envisioned a long, relaxing shower to wash away the bad memories. But as he stood and let the hot water pelt him, he couldn't find the normal comfort that usually came from this familiar chore. Instead, his mind played the same disturbing footage over and over like some demonic loop put together strictly for the purpose of torturing big brothers.

 _Oh, is he your brother? He fell off his bar stool. Get 'em off me, Dean! Please! We were just helping. No! Get 'em off me, Dean! Please! Is he your brother? We were just helping. Get 'em off me! Get 'em off me! Dean! Please! Please! Please!_

Dean shuddered. Dammit, that had been too close. If he'd been even a minute later in searching for Sam, or if he'd followed his instinct to head outside, those two animals would have had his little brother all to themselves in a dark corner booth to do who knows what. Dean had experienced plenty of close calls in his day. After all, when you frequented the bars nightly with the intent of separating drunks from their money, you were bound to suffer the occasional threat of some dude getting handsy or trying to crowd you too closely into a secluded corner. Dean had been determined that was never going to happen to Sam. Not ever. That satisfaction was a big part of what kept Dean going. He didn't take pride in too many things, but his ability to protect his little brother from the seedier side of their existence was one. As long as Dean was alive, he was determined Sam's days would be filled with school and libraries and only the brightly lit restaurant side of the local bars and grills.

But now.

Now, evil had impacted Sammy. It had found him in a family recreation center of all places.

And Dean was pissed.

He finished up his shower and padded back out into the room, steam trailing behind him in ribbons. He checked on Sam once more before turning off the light and settling comfortably on his bed, TV on but muted.

He was going to have to be much more careful after tonight.


	10. That's Just the Hangover Talking, Sammy

Dean was instantly awake and not sure why. Judging by the daylight coming through the window, it was morning outside but just barely. He glanced over to Sam and sat up when he found the bed empty, but the thin sliver of light beneath the bathroom door eased his anxiety. He sank back down under the covers.

Just one more hour.

But then he heard the distinctive sounds of retching, and suddenly remembered the events of the previous night. He grinned. Sam was about to get an introductory lesson in Whiskey 101. He slipped out of bed and knocked quietly on the bathroom door.

"Sam? You need help?"

Nothing but the sound of his brother being violently ill.

Dean tried the knob to find it locked. He knocked again. "Come on, little bro, let me in."

Sam's voice. "N-no Dean. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you sound fine, bitch." He knocked again. "Come on. I can help."

Silence. Then flushing. Dean heard the water running in the sink.

When the door opened, he tried not to chuckle. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Sam was a zombie - the sunken eyes, gray skin, and pale lips all testified to the fact. But then Dean remembered his own first hangover and silently congratulated his brother on this Winchester rite of passage.

"Damn, dude. You look like hell."

Sam shook his head. "Not now, Dean, please?" He whispered, moving back to his bed and climbing in. "I might be dying."

Dean snorted again, following, "Yeah, you're not dying, Dude. Dying hurts less. Trust me."

"I believe it." Sam replied through chattering teeth.

Dean sat gently down on the edge of his brother's bed and handed him two tablets and a water bottle. "This will help. If you can keep them down, that is."

Sam downed the aspirin dry. "Thanks."

"No, you need to drink water. Trust me on this." He dangled the bottle in his brother's face until Sam sighed and took it, taking two small sips.

"Happy now?"

Dean smiled. "You mean because I enjoy watching my baby bro puke his guts up?"

"Ugh. Just … don't." Sam warned.

"Think you could keep some coffee down?"

But coffee just made Sam remember the whole embarrassing, disastrous date of the night before, and suddenly, to his humiliation, his eyes filled with tears. "No coffee," his voice broke.

Dean instantly made the connection. "Aww, hell, Sammy."He said, rubbing his brother's bony shoulder through the blanket. "I'm so sorry about last night. You have no idea how badly I'd love to take that shit back. I never should have gotten you into that mess. That's all on me."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"What?"

"I mean it. What's wrong with me? Why does everyone leave me?"

"I'm here. What am I, chopped liver?"

"You're not here much." Sam accused absently, drifting. "Dad's never here. Mom's gone. Feels like people can't wait to get away from me."

Dean's heart shifted a little in his chest. "That's just the hangover talking Sam." he swallowed hard. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

"Mm hm." Sam was nearly asleep again.

"Maybe you can try eating more than one French fry today, hunh?"

Sam smiled softly. "Pasta." He said, and was asleep.

But Dean's prediction didn't pan out. When Sam woke up later that afternoon, the nausea was gone but the slight vertigo remained. He stuck close to his bed all day long and only nibbled at the grilled chicken sandwich Dean brought him from the joint across the street. Worse though, was the melancholy. Dean had nursed many hangovers in his day, and they'd made him alternately nauseous, thirsty, dizzy, anxious, and mean. None had ever made him feel depressed. Leave it to Sam to reinvent something so mundane as whiskey regret.

"You gotta snap out of it, Sam." Dean implored after an hour of watching his brother lay silently on his side, staring blankly at the wall. "Your jaw's dragging so low you're gonna trip over it."

Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed. "I mean it, Sam. Talk to me, please? You're starting to worry me, dude. I mean, I know alcohol is a depressant and all, but you gotta shake this off." He stretched out on the bed beside his brother and leaned back against the headboard, crossing long legs out in front of him and folding strong hands in his lap. "Tell me what's banging around inside that emo noggin of yours?"

"Leave me alone, please, Dean?"

"And since when did you get so polite anyway? Scream or yell at me or throw something, why don't you? At least that I can handle."

"I don't want to yell at you."

"Why not? I deserve it."

Sam turned over then so he was facing his brother, and Dean saw tears sliding silently sideways down his face. He toyed with the hem of Dean's shirt. "I don't know what's wrong." He whispered so low that Dean had to scrunch down to hear him. "I h-hate feeling this way, but I can't s-stop."

Dean swallowed the lump that suddenly choked him. "Sammy …" he said, at a loss for words.

"I just ... I feel like I can't face an-another day." Sam tried to explain. "I know you're planning to leave in a few hours and I'll be all alone again, and I c-can't face that either. I know Dad's going to call and tell us he's not c-coming back anytime soon, and I don't want to hear it. I just ..." he smothered back a sob. "I feel like I can't trust myself to be alone." He finished quietly. "I'm so tired of being alone."

Suddenly, Dean was terrified. "Sam? What the hell does that mean? You can't trust yourself?" He asked, harsher than he intended.

Sam jumped and drew his hand back, folding both hands flat together and slipping them beneath his prone cheek. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

Dean silently cursed his sharp tone, "Sorry for what?" he asked more gently.

"I'm just sorry." He stopped talking and closed his eyes.

"Sam?"

Silence.

"Sammy?"

And that's how the two brothers stayed as another sun set slowly on another cheery Winchester Sunday afternoon.


	11. He Must Be Spending His Days Nearby

Dean exited the Impala and tried to swallow his fear. Ever since that weekend, Sam had rocketed downhill like a hapless skier trying to outdistance an avalanche - and just as ill-fated. Sam's prediction about Dad had come true - he wasn't returning anytime soon. And that meant a switch from the warm comfort of a seedy hotel to the cold reality of an abandoned house just outside of town. Dean had moved them there after an eventful phone call with Bobby who knew the guy who owned the place. The house was okay but far from nice. It had been on the market for some time until the owner finally gave up - it needed too much work to interest anyone in making the kind of offer he needed. So he'd planned to rent it instead. Sam and Dean were his first tenants - free because the guy owed Bobby a big one.

Still, a little central heat would have been nice.

But aside from their new accommodations, there were other big changes taking place in Dean's life. Reluctant to leave his little brother alone at night anymore, Dean had found respectable work at a garage not far from the school. He worked the same hours as Sam and was able to drop him off in the morning and pick him up in the afternoon. The boys spent their evenings together - playing cards at the metal and Formica monstrosity that served as a kitchen table or spending an occasional night out bowling or taking in a movie.

Still, Sam was in trouble.

Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his brother had never bounced back from that single, wretched weekend. And it left Dean wondering if more hadn't happened back at that bar than he'd realized. And now, here he was, being called to the principal's office to relive old, bad times from his own high school years.

He waited outside the front office until someone finally noticed and buzzed him in.

"I'm Dean Winchester. I got a call about my brother, Sam." he informed the woman who looked ready to filet him for interrupting lunch at her desk.

She nodded and gestured to a closed door off to the right, "Go on in, Mr. Regent is waiting for you."

Dean nodded back and entered the tiny office that was smaller than the motel room they'd recently vacated. He shook the hand that the principal extended, and spoke, "I thought Sam would be joining us." He explained.

The man seemed taken aback, "Well, it would be nice if Sam could join us. Unfortunately, no one has seen him for a solid week."

Dean just stared, "What?"

Principal Regent's eyes narrowed, "You didn't know?" he asked gently.

"I've been dropping him off in front of the school every morning and picking him up every afternoon. Are you sure you have the right Sam? There seems to be a lot of that going around." Dean's wise-ass attitude was cranking up.

The principal only smiled, "Oh, I can assure you, I have the right Sam." He opened a file on his desk and began reading from it:

" _Sam is a pleasure to have in class. He's eager to participate and asks appropriate questions."_

" _Sam is bright, inquisitive, and studious. His homework is always complete and his knowledge of assignments shows that he is absorbing the information."_

" _Sam has filled out more reading logs than any other student in the class. His knowledge of literature and poetry is impressive for someone his age. I wish I had 20 more like him."_

"These are comments from a few of Sam's teachers." Mr. Regent smiled. "Sam's a good kid, which is why we're all so worried about him. That's why I called you here. I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on why he's so obviously cutting class all of a sudden?"

Dean sat, unable to form a coherent thought. Sam cutting class? What the hell? He shook his head mutely.

'Well, if you've been dropping him off and picking him up out front, then he must be spending his days nearby, and I have a feeling I know where that is." The principal offered.

"Where?"

"I took the liberty of talking to one or two of Sam's friends before I had you in, Dean, and they tell me that Sam has been hanging out with a different crowd recently. Now I'm not going to talk ill of my students specifically, but a few of the names that came up are kids who have a history of being … troubled."

"Troubled? What the hell does that mean?" Dean was suddenly terrified.

"It means histories of drug and alcohol abuse, criminal records. One has served time in the local reformatory."

"Served time for what?" Dean barked.

The principal shook his head. "No specifics. I'm sorry. But I wanted to alert you to the situation because I don't think these are the types of kids that Sam needs to be spending a lot of time with. Not that people can't change." He clarified. "But I'd hate to see someone with Sam's potential toss all that away because he fell in with the wrong crowd."

"These friends of Sam's that you spoke to? You got names?"

The man paused, silently studying Dean, trying to decide how much information he should disclose, but in the end, his concern for Sam won out. He glanced at his notes. "That would be Bonnie Haliday and Bryce Kimble."

"And they told you that Sam has been hanging out with these guys?"

The man nodded.

"And you said you knew where?"

"I might know where." the principal offered. "Do you know where Half-Mile Bridge is?"

Dean shook his head.

"You probably crossed over it coming into town. It's the bridge that passes over Kiln River on the way to the interstate. It's actually a viaduct. Lots of places to hide and made yourself scarce from anyone looking. Some of the kids whose names came up are known to hang out there from time to time."

"Under a freaking bridge? What's fun about that?"

"Well, it's close to the liquor store, for one. And it's away from prying eyes of parents and teachers - a perfect place to drink or smoke or spray graffiti."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "And you think Sam is smoking and drinking?"

The principal hesitated, then nodded. "I had to call Sam into my office one day last week. His science teacher, Mr. Newburn, thought he smelled alcohol on his breath."

Dean stopped breathing. "And?"

"And he was right."

Dean seethed. "And you didn't think that warranted a call home?"

The principal looked contrite. "Yes. It did. You're right. I should have called you then. But Sam begged me not to. He seemed terrified that his father would find out - too terrified - if you get my meaning. And we all like Sam here. I let myself be swayed by his argument that it would never happen again."

The principal glanced at Dean with regret, "And no one here has seen Sam since."


	12. Horror at Half-Mile Bridge

Once again, Dean was pissed. Only this level of pissed took the emotion to a whole new high. He pulled off on the side of the old access road that led to Half-Mile Bridge and cut the engine. In the distance, he could see a boy leaning up against a concrete pillar, one knee bent. And as Dean watched, he pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his jacket and took a long drink.

"Dammit, Sam!" He muttered "If that's you, I'm gonna kick your ass." He started walking. As he approached, he could see there was a small group of five boys - all in various stages of inebriation. Another boy rose to lean next to the first, and the other three sat on the ground across from them, propped up by the concrete wall of the adjoining pillar.

But none of the boys was Sam. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he approached. Probably, he should be a bit more cautious when walking up on a group of five drunk males, Dean thought briefly, but these were just kids and he'd be damned if he'd let a bunch of snot-noses freak him out.

One of the leaning boys finally spotted him, "Uh oh." he chanted in a smart-ass, sing-song voice. "Five-Oh. We're in trouble now."

The boy beside him leaned out to look and relaxed. "Dude, that ain't a cop. That's Winchester's big bro. "Hey!" He called out to Dean, "You bring that cherry ride?"

Dean fixed the boy with his coldest glare. "Who the fuck are you, and where is my brother?"

The boy stared back, glassy-eyed, "Dude. That ain't very friendly." And Dean could swear the boy pouted.

"Yeah, we ain't friends. Now I'm gonna ask one more time. Where's Sam? Is he here?"

Sam's gentle voice behind him. "I'm right here, Dean." he said softly.

Dean whirled, and there stood his brother looking … perfectly normal. But Dean was past being nice. He strode over to Sam and invaded his space, "You drunk?" he barked, sniffing.

Sam took a step back. "No Dean, I'm not drunk."

"Empty your pockets." He snapped.

"What?"

"Empty your damned pockets, Sam, or I'll empty them for you!"

Sam stood staring at his brother. He'd seen Dean this angry plenty of times, but he couldn't recall a single instance when the venom had been directed at him. His eyes teared instantly.

"Fine." He sniffed, reaching into his jacket pockets and tugging the linings out. He dislodged a paperclip and a scrap of folded notebook paper. "Happy now?" He demanded, trying not to show how deeply Dean's cold attitude cut him.

But Dean just glared. "Jeans too. Come on, let's have it. Pockets. Now!"

Sam repeated the same process over again with the front pockets of his jeans, revealing only the pocket knife that Dean had given him for his birthday last year. The sight of the knife, and the realization that Sam must carry it on him every day gave Dean pause, but he refused to be derailed. He tossed the knife on the ground behind them.

"Take the jacket off and hand it to me." He ordered, coldly.

Sam stared at his brother like he had no idea who he was. But he slipped the jacket off wordlessly and handed it to Dean anyway. Dean took it and meticulously searched every pocket, inside and out. Then he ran his hands along the lining the whole way around. He tossed the jacket on the ground with the knife and turned the coldest eyes Sam had ever seen on his little brother.

"Up against the wall!"

Sam stared, he couldn't mean … "What!" he yelped.

"You heard me! If you're going to act like a fucking criminal, then I'm going to treat you like one! Up against the wall, Sam! Spread 'em! Now!"

"What? No! Dean!" But Dean had passed the point of reason. He grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt, shoved him ruthlessly into the concrete wall and spun him around. He planted his brother's hands wide apart on the wall on either side of his head and savagely kicked his feet apart. When he was done, he had Sam spread-eagled and pulled out from the wall in classic body search position. He could hear the other boys shifting nervously behind him, but his sole focus right now was on his brother.

"Dean, please." He heard him whimper quietly, but Dean was on a mission.

"Shut up! You hear me? This is all on you, Sam! You know better than this shit." And he proceeded to pat his little brother down in a humiliating body search right there under the bridge in front of God and everybody. But when he was done, all he had to show for his trouble was Sam's wallet. He handed it back to him as he stepped away from the wall. Sam tried to hide his face by keeping his head down and letting his long hair fall forward, but Dean could see his skin tinged pink with embarrassment.

Good.

"Now the boots." Dean demanded. And Sam suddenly nailed him with such a hate-filled stare that it took Dean's breath away. But he bent down and removed each boot, handing them one at a time to his brother.

Dean took the boots and uprighted them. Then he ran his hands inside each. He tossed them to the side. "Raise your cuffs." he barked again. So Sam crouched down and silently tugged each cuff of his jeans up to reveal his socks.

"Pull the socks down."

Sam complied.

"Satisfied?" Sam asked acidly, standing up.

Dean stood breathing heavily and staring at his little brother, whom he suddenly realized had nothing on him - no miniatures, no cigarettes, no drugs of any kind. And when he saw Sam's eyes suddenly widen, he thought it was because he was about to throw a punch. And for a split second, Dean sort of hoped he would because he was feeling more like a dick by the minute.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, and suddenly shoved his brother hard to the right.

Dean didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting, but a full-on body slam wasn't it. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him, and was vaguely aware of the other boys running away in panic. Dean wondered if Sam had run too, and hoped he hadn't because suddenly, he hurt like hell.

"Sam?" He croaked, when he was able.

Silence.

Shit. Sam had run off and left him here. Dammit.

But then his little brother was kneeling beside him, gathering him up and babbling incoherently about how it wasn't bad; it was just a nick and he was going to be fine.

"Sam? What?" Dean was finally able to ask. When his vision focused again, the first thing he saw was his baby brother with tears streaking his face. In his hands, he held his jacket folded into a compress. He pushed it down onto Dean's side, and Dean swore. "Son of a bitch that hurts!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Dean! Sam babbled, as he kept pressure on what could only be a wound. "I have to keep the pressure on it."

"Sam, wha-what the hell happened?"

Sam was sobbing, "It was Ralph. He-he took my knife …"

"Did that little fucker stab me?"

Sam shook his head. "No! No, Dean. It's just a nick, I swear! You're going to be fine. Stay down, Dean please?" Sam begged as Dean struggled to his feet. He had to get them both out of there before the little psycho came back to try and finish the job.

"I'm okay, Sam. It's okay." Dean tried to reassure him, examining his wound and realizing that Sam was right. It was far from lethal. He gasped in relief. "I'm fine, little brother." he said. "But we have to get the hell out of here before they come back, okay?" He looked down at Sam and his eyes widened in horror. His brother knelt on the ground on one knee, face the color of ashes, slowly rocking back and forth, and the left arm of his own button-down shirt was covered in blood that Dean suddenly feared wasn't his own.

"Sam!" Sam was hit. He was down. That fucker had aimed for Dean, but his brother had taken the brunt of the attack when he pushed him out of the way - stabbed by his own damned knife that Dean had delivered right into their hands.

"Sammy! Oh God!" He dropped down beside his brother and took his face in both hands. He stared into eyes that were rapidly glossing over in shock. "It's gonna be okay, Sam. You hear me?" He gently tore away the sleeve of Sam's shirt to assess the damage. As near as he could tell, the blade had sliced along the edge of his own rib cage, thanks to Sam knocking him out of the way. But his brother must have been facing his attacker full on when the knife plunged forward. He had neat entry and exit wounds clear through the fleshy part of his lower arm, and damn, were they bleeding.

"Dammit Sam! What's the big idea of jumping in front of a psycho with a knife anyway?" he griped, tearing the discarded sleeve into strips and wrapping them securely around Sam's wound.

"He was going to stab you in the kidney, Dean." Sam mumbled, distantly.

"So what? I'm Batman, remember? You don't sacrifice yourself to save Batman. Batman sacrifices himself to save you. Let's get our priorities straight here."

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam muttered, "Well, except for the humiliation." He finished sadly.

Dean winced. He deserved it. Here he was manhandling his little brother in front of people, treating him like trash, embarrassing and humiliating him, and how does Sam respond? He fucking sacrifices his damned life to save him.

Dean rested his forehead against his brother's, eyes closed. "I'm sorry Sammy. Damn it. I'm so sorry. I just … I thought you were … I mean, I thought you were just going to …"

"It's okay. Can we just go?"

Dean drew back and looked into eyes that were sad, but no longer filled with hate. He sighed. "Yeah, of course. Let's get you home and fixed up."

"And you." Sam added, struggling to his feet.

"Yeah, whatever. Can you walk? I parked a ways out."

"It's my arm, Dean, not my leg. I can walk fine."


	13. I See My Worth

"So, you going to tell me what's going on?" Dean eyed his brother, placing the last piece of tape on Sam's bandage.

Sam shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"Really, Sam?"

"Yes, really." Sam replied, motioning for his brother to turn around so he could take his turn as nurse. He carefully began cleaning and disinfecting the slash on Dean's side.

"The week of skipped classes? The visit to the principal's office with liquor on your breath? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam froze, then continued. "Where'd you hear all that?"

"Where do you think? I don't like being called to the principal's office, Sam. Too many bad memories if you know what I mean." Dean shuddered.

"Sorry."

"Bullshit. I don't want sorry. I wanna know what's going on with you? This? This is nothing like you."

"You need stitches." Sam grimaced.

"So stitch. And stop trying to change the subject."

"Lay down. Here." Sam fished the whiskey out of the first aid kit and handed it to his brother. "It's gonna hurt."

Dean pushed the bottle away, suddenly conscious of just how often he relied on that particular beverage in the course of a day. Guilt flashed again. "Just do it, already."

Sam moved to the bathroom to wash his hands. "So I skipped school. Big deal. Not like you never did it." He returned to the bed and threaded the needle, eyeing his brother. "You're sure about this?"

Dean nodded. "It is a big deal, Sam. You are not me. You - you freaking LIKE school."

"Well," Sam said absently, concentrating on the task at hand, "Only losers like school, right?"

Dean turned to give his brother a cold stare. "Don't you even start quoting that red hot bitch."

Sam was silent for an eternity as he worked as gently and as quickly as he could. He tied off the string, clipped it and placed a comforting hand on his brother's back, "There. You're done. Just let me disinfect it again and then I'll get you bandaged up."

Dean sat up, wincing. "I ever get my hands on that little bastard …"

Sam sat back down and reached across Dean for the whiskey. "Hey!" Dean slapped his hand away. "What the hell, Sam?"

Sam sighed, "Dude, it's for your wound."

"Oh. Well then. Carry on."

"You're such a hypocrite."

"What did you just say to me?"

Sam soaked a bandage in the whiskey and pressed it to his brother's side, grimacing when he hissed and jerked away. "Sorry."

"Dammit, Sam. Whatever this is, you need to get it under control."

"I'm perfectly in control." Sam applied a long piece of gauze and taped it into place. He stood to wash his hands again. "You can stop worrying about me. I know what I'm doing."

Dean snorted. "In case you didn't notice, worrying sort of comes with the job description. Big brother, remember? And I'm serious. You need to sit down and talk to me, and I mean right now."

Sam sighed and shook his head, "I got nothing to say, Dean." he flopped gingerly down on the couch, facing his brother and waving his hand in an act of open defiance.

Suddenly, Dean was furious. He was tired of saying the same thing over and over again and getting shot down. It was a low blow, he knew, but he needed to shake Sam up - let him know he wasn't caving on this. This was too important. He sat down across from Sam and conjured up his iciest stare.

"Yeah, well, it was your flippant "got nothing to say" that nearly lost me a fucking kidney today though, wasn't it?"

The shocked look on Sam's face was enough to make Dean feel physically sick. His brother just stared, and Dean could see the muscles in his throat working hard as he tried not to cry. He blinked rapidly but lost the battle anyway. And as Dean watched, big, silent tears slid down his brother's face for the second time that day.

"You-you're a shit, Dean." was all he managed to choke out before shooting up off the couch and darting for the door.

But Dean was quicker. He stepped in front of Sam, blocking his retreat in every direction. "I'm not shitting you, Sam. You try to bolt, and I'll fucking take you down. You hear me?"

But the Winchester rage didn't just course through one brother's blood, and Sam raised his chin in defiance. "Yeah?" He snarled. "You wanna hit me, Dean? Do you? Well go ahead. The fucking line forms right here."

Dean was very still. Suddenly, he knew if he let go even a hair, he was going to cross a line and do something he'd never forgive himself for, but dammit, Sam was endangering his own life with this shit, and that was something he absolutely couldn't allow. Sam might as well have been standing there holding a gun to his own head. Dean felt perfectly justified in what he did next.

Sam saw Dean's decision in his eyes the moment he made it, and it was his sudden new penchant for self destruction that prompted him to test his theory. When he pushed forward to move past Dean and bolt for the door, Dean shoved him back. Hard.

The backs of Sam's knees hit the couch and spilled him awkwardly across its length, adding to the hurt and humiliation the day had wrought. And when he raised back up in full fighter mode and charged his brother for real, he only sealed his fate.

Dean saw him coming, and shook his head in warning. "Sammy, don't." he begged silently inside his head. "Don't make me do this."

But Sam did. He barreled into Dean, one good arm flailing and managed to land a solid punch on his brother's cheek.

And then all bets were off.

It took only a second for Dean to recover, and when he did, he came back with a vengeance. He forgot who his opponent was and gave into all the fear and the rage and the feelings of guilt he'd been carrying around for weeks. He took his brother down with one hard clip to the face. And when Sam struggled to his feet, eyes streaming and nose bleeding and lunged again, Dean met him halfway with a punch to the gut that threw Sam back against the living room wall.

Sam kneeled on the floor, doubled over, gasping and spitting out blood, and Dean thought the worst was over then. But when Sam raised his head and glared pure hatred at his brother, Dean knew he was going to come at him yet again.

"Sam! Stay down!" He barked.

"Y-you wanna hurt me, D-Dean?" Sam spit out, dragging himself to his feet. "Well come on then. Everyone else has. You're just the last in line. Late to the fool's parade." He mocked. And charged.

Dean stepped back with the intention of just holding his brother off until he tired of this game, but Sam crashed into him with a force that he wasn't expecting. It threw him off balance and his injured ribs scraped against the door jamb, wrenching a cry from his lips. He saw red then and dove in with fists flying. When he came back to himself, he was breathing heavily and Sam was on the floor, flailing. Blood gushed in torrents from his nose, from cuts above his eyebrow, and from the side of his head where he must have fallen against something unforgiving. The wound on his arm leaked blood down his arm and ran in rivulets through shaking fingers. And as Dean's vision cleared, Sam wrestled himself to his feet, spit blood on the carpet, and stood swaying. He looked at Dean with such an expression of betrayal that it felt like he'd just thrown a punch.

"T-tell me how y-you really f-feel about me, Br-rother." Sam emphasized the last word mockingly.

Dean's heart broke in a million pieces right there on the spot. And when Sam stumbled over to the door a third time, Dean made no move to stop him. He grasped the knob and hesitated. Without looking at his brother, he sobbed softly. "I thought … I thought I could always count on you. I thought you would always be here f-for me no m-matter what." He looked up then, and his eyes held a million miles of hurt. "I was wrong. You-you're just like Dad all o-over again. And I don't belong here. I'll never be good enough to belong here, or maybe anywhere for that matter." His voice hitched, and he swiped at his eyes with his blood soaked hand, leaving gory streaks of pink behind. "I'll never bother you again, D-dean. You can st-stop worrying now. I see my worth every t-time I look in your eyes." He opened the door, stumbled through and was gone.


	14. That Old Winchester Luck

"Saaaaam!" Dean's voice echoed in the dark night surrounding the old house, and he was secretly glad that their location was so secluded. All they needed were nosy neighbors keeping tabs.

"Saaaaam! Answer me!" Dean stumbled around the house as quickly as his aching body allowed. In the shape he was in - dammit, the shape Dean had put him in - Dean knew Sam couldn't go far, but damned if he wasn't a stubborn little bitch, refusing to answer like that.

Dean felt like the world's biggest shit. All those years spent trying to protect his baby brother from evil, and the monster that he should have feared the most was right in his own living room. Dean couldn't believe that he'd hit his brother - actually hit him. Beat the snot out of him even. Dammit, when did he turn into his father? The thought of all those punches he'd thrown, and he hadn't pulled a one. Just overpowered his sixteen-year-old brother with his heavier weight and superior fighting skills like he was some punk off of the street who'd tried to pick his pocket. Dean felt sick. He could still see Sam picking himself up off the floor that last time, beaten into submission and wise enough to know it. Wise enough to turn away and flee instead of trying to rush his brother one more time because he couldn't trust Dean not to freaking kill him.

"Sammy. please." Dean's voice broke. "I'm sorry, Sam! I-I didn't mean it, not any of it. Please, just answer me? Please?"

Nothing.

Dean shivered. Dammit, it was fucking cold out here, and like Dean, Sam was shirtless. Of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? Why wouldn't the Winchester luck involve him beating his kid brother senseless and running him out half-dressed on the coldest night of the year so far? That was pretty much par for the course, right? Obviously, a fucking sweatshirt was out of the question.

Dean trained his flashlight on the ground then and caught the dark outline of a blood trail. Good. Good. Follow the blood that he'd beat out of his baby brother. That would make everything right again.

But follow it he did, and it led him straight into the woods behind the house. Once inside the leaf canopy, the trail was harder to pick up, but Dean was just desperate enough to find it because not finding wasn't an option. It led straight to a shallow creek where, of course, he found his little brother, unconscious and soaked. Sam had made it as far as the steep bank on the other side but hadn't had the strength to pull himself up and out. He was face-down and draped over a fallen log which was probably the only reason he hadn't drowned. And silently, Dean thanked the powers that be for small favors.

Dean grasped his brother by his slight shoulders and rolled him over. He heaved him up in a fireman's carry and toted him back to the house, keeping a running commentary all the way.

"So of course, you were face-down in a creek, Sammy. So that means infection in your arm no doubt. And then we got the pneumonia factor, and I'm sure that before we ever make it back to the house, we'll scare up a wendigo or two. I mean, why the hell not, right? We are talking about that old Winchester luck you know."

But they made it back to the house uneventfully, and Dean carried his unconscious brother inside and placed him carefully on the couch. He covered him with a blanket and set about stoking up the fireplace to warm up the room which felt about two degrees warmer than the fucking creek.

Once the fire was roaring, and heat began filling the room, Dean wrestled Sam out of his wet jeans and boxers and tucked him into a pair of warm sweats. He warmed two pair of socks by the fire and pulled them on - two per icy foot. Then he fetched a washcloth and a basin of warm water and set about washing away all the blood and the dirt and the snot that coated his little brother liberally. When that chore was done, he re-cleaned Sam's arm and re-bandaged it. Then he tended to the wound on Sam's head, cleaning it thoroughly and leaving it unbandaged because wrapping it meant cutting off locks of hair, and that just wasn't an option. When he was done, Dean pulled Sam's favorite old hoodie back over his head and rested. He'd done all he could for his brother's physical wounds but he had a feeling the emotional trauma was going to be a real bitch to fix.

Dean stared down at his little brother. Damn. He looked all of twelve years old like that, except for the bruised and battered face, of course.

He gave into it then - the urge to cry like a baby. Sam was hurt - badly. And Dean was the one who'd caused it. He remained by his brother's side for the rest of the night, watching and waiting for the morning to come and dreading the view from the light of day.


	15. I Don't Know How to Fix This

Dean startled rudely awake when his body slipped sideways in the chair and reignited the fire in his gut. He swore softly and winced as he tried to rearrange things in such a way that it didn't feel like a damn dagger was sticking out of his ribs.

"I'm sorry."

Dean froze. He looked over to the couch where Sam had spoken. He was sitting up and studying Dean silently through swollen eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Sammy?" Dean croaked. "What?"

Sam gestured to Dean's wound. "For that. I'm sorry. You were right. That's my fault."

Dean smiled and rose painfully from his seat in the chair across from the couch. He sat down next to Sam on the worn cushions. "Hey kiddo." He said, brushing a lock of hair away from his brother's eye and shaking his head. "No, Sammy. This is on me. All of ... of this," he made a sweeping gesture indicating his brother's injuries, "This is on me, Sam." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry."

"It was my knife and my friends and my … wanting to run away. That makes it my fault."

Dean wondered if that was an opening, and so he stepped through, "Run away from what, Sam?" He prodded gently, lifting his brother's hand from the blanket and enclosing it in both of his own in a very chick-flick move.

Sam stared silently, and Dean could see the struggle behind his eyes.

"Please talk to me, Sam. Please. I … I don't know how to fix this if you don't talk to me." he begged.

Sam looked away then, blinking back tears. "You can't fix this, Dean." he said softly. "Not this time."

"Watch me." Dean smiled. "Come on, Sammy. You know me. If something's hurting you, I'm gonna find a way to kick its ass."

"Like you kicked my ass?" Sam suddenly accused, his voice thick with hurt - a single tear trailing down his cheek. "You beat the shit out of me, Dean." He repeated, like it couldn't possibly be true. "All I wanted was some space." His voice broke.

Dean blinked. "Sammy …" he started and fell silent. What could he begin to say to make this right?

But Sam went on. It was like a floodgate had opened and the words could finally spill forth freely. "All these weeks of getting dinged by people at school, and manhandled in the locker room, and … and ignored by the kids who were supposed to be my friends," he stammered. "I always knew that once I got back here, I would be okay. I knew my … my … you ...would be here to say the right things and make everything good again." He looked Dean in the eyes then and pleaded, "I counted on th-that. I n-needed it … to have just one person who would never let me down, no matter what terrible things people said I did. I always knew there was one person who wouldn't believe any of it. I need that, Dean. God, I need it so much. I just … I can't be all alone. I just can't." he sobbed. "I don't know how to do this all alone. And I don't want to."

Dean leaned down then and gathered his brother up in a hug. He held him close like he hadn't done since Sam was five or six and the man in the giant Easter Bunny suit had scared the shit out of him in the supermarket. "You're not alone, Sammy." he said. "I swear, as long as I'm alive, you're never gonna be alone, kiddo. I'm gonna ride your ass til you're freaking 60 years old, so get used to it. You hear me?"

Sam harumphed softly into his shoulder.

"I made a mistake last night, Sam. You understand? And it's not an excuse. There's no excuse anywhere for me ever laying a hand on you. You didn't deserve it, and I'm a dick for doing it, but I can't take it back. All I can do is ask you to please try to find a way to forgive me someday, okay? I know I don't deserve it, but if you can please find a way to trust me again, I swear I won't betray that ever again. I swear, Sammy." he crooned, rocking his brother gently. "I swear. Please don't hate me, okay? I couldn't bear it if you hated me."

"I don't hate you." - Sam's words spoken, muffled, into Dean's shirt.

Dean smiled, "No?"

"Uh unh."

"Good." He eased Sam back down onto the cushions and pinned him with a gentle stare. "So, what's this about getting manhandled in the locker room? Who's ass am I handing to them tomorrow?"

Sam just shrugged and swiped at his eyes.

"Sammy? Come on. Please?"

Sam sniffed, "Alisha …" He said and stopped, biting his lower lip.

"Alisha manhandled you in the locker room?" Dean teased, "That doesn't sound like her."

Sam snorted, "Jerk." he offered.

But Dean didn't offer his usual comeback. Instead he just smiled and waited patiently for Sam to continue.

"She told things … at school."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What kinds of things?"

"She was st-still there that night. She saw what happened at the … the bar."

Dean nodded, ready to strangle the little bitch all over again. When Sam didn't continue, he prodded. "What'd she say, Sam?"

"That … that I like guys. That I let strange men f-feel me up in barrooms. She told everyone to w-watch out for me because I might try to get them alone and … and do stuff."

Dean closed his eyes to get a handle on his emotions. Suddenly, he had a horrible thought. His eyes shot open. "So what happened in the locker room, then?" He asked, heart sinking.

Sam flushed pink. He shrugged and looked away.

"Sam? Come on. Spill."

"Just … Devon Mills and Rod Bishop … they … tried stuff."

Dean was remembering names so he'd know who to kill tomorrow.

"They just … they pushed me around is all. You know. They said things. Called me names."

"What names?"

Sam glared, "What names do you think?"

Dean struggled to keep his fury in check. "How far did it go, Sam?"

Sam shook his head, "It didn't. I stopped it. I started throwing punches, and they left me alone after that."

Dean nodded, "What else?"

Sam looked up, "Hunh?"

"Well you said people dinging you and people who were supposed to be your friends ignoring you?"

"Yeah, pretty much that."

"Sam."

"Well, Devon and Rod, they told people that it was all me. That I tried something to get them alone, and then nobody wanted anything to do with me after that. They made up a name." Sam looked away. "Wincester." He blurted out.

"What?" Dean was confused.

"They started calling me Sam Wincester because they said it was just me and my brother at home and we lived in a motel and whatever."

Dean felt sick. "What the hell, Sam? Is that a high school or a damned maximum security prison? What the hell is wrong with those kids?"

"It wasn't just the kids."

"Excuse me?" Dean thought he'd heard wrong.

"The coach said it once too. Called me Wincester, then pretended like it was an accident. Anyway, I never went back after that, so it doesn't matter now."

Dean calmed himself by thinking about the list of wrongs he planned to right at the first opportunity. And it was all going to start with one little blond bitch and her big, ugly mouth. And there was a special place reserved for Sam's coach too, you bet your ass. But first, Sam.

He shook his head, "Sammy. Damn. That's rough. I get it. I see now why you stayed away."

Sam shrugged, "Those guys at the bridge - they don't fit in either. I finally felt like maybe I found people who understood me, but then Ralph turned out to be a psycho."

"How'd you end up with them anyway?"

Sam shrugged again. "I was walking away from the school one day after you'd dropped me off, and they were too. I didn't have any idea in mind of where I was going to go all day, except maybe to the library. But Perry is in my English class, and then they asked me if I wanted to tag along, so …"

Sam knew better than that, and Dean knew that Sam knew it too, but now was not the time to start in with the accusations again so he just nodded.

"Sam," Dean bit his lip, "Did … did more happen that night in the bar than I saw?"

Sam's eyes grew huge. "I was scared, Dean! I was so scared. When they pulled me away from the bar and then Teddy grabbed me from the other side. I didn't wanna go in the booth with them, I swear! I said no, Dean. I swear I did!

Teddy. Another name for the Dean's list. "Yeah, well that makes two of us. If I hadn't been standing right there, Sam …"

Sam nodded, "I know. It could have been a whole lot worse." He looked up at Dean with watery eyes. "Did I thank you for that?"

Dean just shook his head. "You don't ever have to thank me for lookin' out for you, Sammy. That's my job."


	16. The Long, Hard Ride

"What the hell?" Dean took both hands off the wheel as the engine stuttered and coasted to a stop alongside the road. "I just tuned Baby up last week."

Sam looked over. "Bad gas?"

"Nah. Wouldn't do this. I don't get it." Dean sat thinking. "New plugs, new filter." He ran his hands lovingly over the steering wheel, "What's wrong, Baby?" He stepped out and moved to stand at the front of the Impala, popping the hood and propping it open. He leaned in and glanced around.

"Hey Sam." He called, twirling a finger, "Crank it."

Sam slid across the seat and turned the key. The engine fired and tried to catch, but nothing. In the space where the hood met the body of the car, he saw his brother's hands moving from here to there - tightening this, jiggling that.

"Again." Dean called.

Sam tried again with the same result.

"Hey, get me the toolbox from the trunk, would ya?"

Sam slid out, taking the keys, and moved to the rear of the car. He was opening the trunk when an arm snaked around his throat and something sharp poked him in the side. He heard a voice whisper in his ear menacingly. "I got you, Sammy."

Sam's blood froze in his veins. He recognized the voice instantly.

"Now, how 'bout you call big brother back here on the double?"

Sam stayed silent, refusing to lure Dean as bait.

"I. Said. Call. Him. Back. Now!"

"Bite me." Sam spat.

"Sam. What the hell? Where's that tool …" Dean called, glancing up and seeing his brother caught like a mouse in a trap. It was the tall cowboy from the bar, and he had Sam in a choke hold with a wicked-looking blade pressed to his side. The second stranger stood off to the side, pointing his .45 straight at Dean.

Dean painted on his cockiest grin. "Fellas, long time no smell. Kind of extreme measures just to cop a feel isn't it?" He locked eyes with Sam and could instantly feel his fear. He winked at his little brother.

The man holding Sam grinned. "Well, it's a little more than that, Winchester." He said, cocking his head eerily to the side and blinking. Solid black eyes stared back at Dean, chilling him to the core. "Although, I gotta say, even all beat to hell and back, baby brother here is growing up mighty fine. Mighty fine." He pulled Sam closer and nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent. "Might have to have us a little fun before this is all over and done with." Sam hissed and tried to pull away.

Dean's grin faded as his eyes flicked to Sam's again then back to the demon's."Thought we'd been through this already. You lay a hand on him, and I'm gonna be pissed. You don't want that, trust me."

"You mean like this?" The demon transferred his knife to the hand around Sam's neck and used his other to trail suggestively down the boy's back. Dean couldn't see what he did exactly, but he saw Sam stiffen and heard him whimper.

Dean's vision grew dark, and he stepped forward with a growl. But in the next instant, the gun fired and Dean went down. A cold fire burned like lava in his shoulder. He could hear Sam screaming his name and saw him struggle to break free to reach him, but the monster that held him suddenly headbutted Sam hard, knocking him out instantly. He picked his little brother up and tossed him in the trunk of the Impala like an old tire, slamming it closed behind him.

"Saaaam!" Dean yelled, as the two dragged him to his feet.

"Shut up!" the demon snarled, twisting Dean's injured arm behind him. He forced him into the back seat of the Impala and slid in behind him. "I got plenty of plans for baby bro, Dean. Don't you worry." He tossed the keys to his buddy, who slammed the Impala's hood down and slipped behind the wheel. The engine cranked instantly, and the car peeled out, spewing gravel in a wide arc behind it.

It felt like they drove for hours - hours on old back roads full of potholes and gravel at speeds that pushed the car's suspension to its limits. And every time they rocketed over a bumpy expanse or squealed to a halt at stop sign, Dean could hear Sam's unconscious body thumping around freely in the trunk. He'd never been so scared for his brother in his life, and that was saying something. He saw the demons exchange amused glances every time there was an especially loud thump from the trunk.

"I hope there's enough left of the kid to torture when we get there." the tall one chuckled once, and Dean used his good arm to elbow the bastard in the face. It brought on a world of painful retribution, but Dean enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing the guy's nose snap anyway.

When it was twilight, they pulled up in front of a small cottage. It looked deceptively cozy, lawn neatly trimmed, fall decor littering the steps and front porch. And it was cold. Damn, it was frigid. The cottage was next to a lake, and the icy wind coming in off the water felt positively hypothermic. As they dragged Dean out of the backseat and toward the front door, he balked.

"What about Sam?" He demanded.

"Sammy's fine right where he is." The shorter one snarled. He's … chilling." They laughed.

Dean charged him, "You son-of-a-bitch. Get my brother out of that trunk or I'll fucking kill you." But they brought him down easily in a tackle that drove all the air from his body. As he lay there trying to gasp, the tall one - Teddy - opened the trunk and looked in. He made a face, then slammed it shut again.

He knelt down next to Dean and whispered conspiratorially "You don't wanna see that, Deano. Trust me." He grinned.

And they dragged Dean to his feet and hauled him up the steps, his brother's name just a scream on the wind behind them.


	17. Sam's Escape

Dean struggled to get the better of his captors, but the bullet wound in his shoulder and the beating he'd taken in the backseat of the Impala kept him at a disadvantage. The demons who held him were strong, not to mention determined, and they wrestled him up the steps to the attic much more easily than he would have liked. They handcuffed him to a wooden rafter there and left him, stomping heavily down the stairs and slamming and locking the door behind them.

From his position near the only window, Dean had a perfect view of the Impala, and he wondered if the bastards hadn't planned it this way. He couldn't take his eyes off the sleek, black metal, thinking how cold it must be getting inside the trunk. And Dean suddenly wondered if his baby - the car he cherished more than any other non-living thing - was about to become his little brother's tomb. Maybe it already had.

Maybe Sammy was already dead.

The look on the demon's face when he'd raised the trunk …

No. Dean was sure the asshole was messing with him. Sam hadn't been badly hurt when they'd shoved him in there - just a little bruised and battered and unconscious. His injuries weren't nearly bad enough to kill him.

All that bumping around though. All that rolling back and forth inside a trunk filled with machetes and daggers and various other implements that mothers never even thought to tell their babies not to run with - all of that was back there with his unconscious brother. What if some of it had dislodged and found its way up through the false trunk to Sam?

What if he was bleeding out right now? What if Sam was dying on the carpeted floor of the trunk inside the Impala, praying with his last breaths for Dean to come save him? What if he was broken and bleeding and slowly freezing to death inside the vehicle that was really the only home he'd ever had?

"Dammit! Fuck!" Dean yanked against the cuffs that held him, feeling no give whatsoever. "You sons a bitches! I'm gonna fucking END you ALL!" he screamed. "You hear me? I will fucking END you!"

And then Dean saw the trunk pop open. It opened just an inch or two and froze there. And as he held his breath, he saw Sam roll silently out and fall soundlessly to the ground below. He reached up and carefully pulled the trunk closed and then scooted quickly beneath the car, flat on his belly, and waited there. Moments later, he slid out the side facing away from the cottage and slithered, unseen by everyone but Dean, into the darkening woods surrounding the house.

Tears rolled down Dean's face then. Sam was alive. He was alive and away and safe. Dean no longer cared what the demons had planned for him. They couldn't use his brother as a bargaining chip against him, couldn't strap him into a chair and make Dean watch while they tortured his baby brother just for fun. They couldn't hurt him or make him scream or make him beg for death while his big brother watched from a chair across the room - helpless, yet desperate, to save him.

Because that very thing had always been Dean's worst fear. It was the one that tormented his dreams at night, and it was the one that ran through his mind every time Sam was late coming out of the school in the afternoons or coming back from the library on weekends. Anytime he had to leave Sam to go on a hunt with Dad, it was this horrible thought that trailed along behind him like sick fog - that he'd return home and Sam would be waiting for him just like that - helpless and hurting. And Dean would be unable to stop his pain.

He heard the door unlock and heard the feet pounding up the stairs. He caught snippets of the conversation.

"... bargain now."

"Hell yeah. Unless he wants to watch them beg to die."

Laughter.

The same two demons arrived at the attic landing and grinned at Dean. "Got a surprise for you kiddo."

Inwardly, Dean smirked. "Yeah, I got a surprise for you too, Skippy." But outwardly, he continued to beg for his brother's life, not wanting to make the bastards suspicious enough to go check on Sam before he had time to get far enough away.

"Please." he begged, convincingly he hoped. "Sam. It's so cold."

They chuckled as one held him while the other unlocked his cuffs. "Don't you worry about little Sammy. We're not gonna let anything too bad happen to him. Well, until we do." The tall one snickered snidely. "In fact, if everyone cooperates, we might not need to involve little bro in tonight's festivities at all. But that's up to you."

The demon stared into Dean's eyes. "How badly do you want to protect him? How far are you willing to go? That's the deciding factor." And he gagged him and tugged a pillowcase down over Dean's head.

Dean continued to struggle and fight as they dragged him down the stairs - mostly because it was against his nature not to. And when they plopped him roughly into a chair and strapped him down, he was out of breath, his shoulder screaming for relief.

Once in the chair, they left him alone again, but Dean could tell there was someone else in the room with him. He could hear ragged breathing like the person was hurt, and suddenly, his heart dropped into his feet. Had they seen Sam make his break? Had they found him and and dragged him back? Was he here now, bound and gagged across from Dean, waiting for the "festivities" to begin?

Dean called out through the gag.

And a voice answered him back. It was trying to communicate through a gag as well, but Dean couldn't tell whether it was Sam's voice or some stranger's.

The demons came back then. One yanked the pillowcase from his head and Dean found himself in a cozy library, a comforting fire crackling in the fireplace, and facing a bound, gagged, and pillowcased figure in a chair across the room from him. It wasn't Sam, Dean secretly heaved a sigh of relief. The man was too stocky.

The tall demon gripped Dean's chin tight and ripped his gag away, and Dean immediately quipped, "Easy, Hoss! Do I at least get dinner first?" And at the sound of his voice, the bound figure across the room went crazy. He suddenly whipped his head back and forth and rocked the chair so violently that it turned over on it's side, spilling the man to the hardwood floor. He swore at his captors through his gag, and Dean could tell the man was furious beyond reason. The guy was fast approaching manic, and Dean was suddenly flooded with dread.

"Get him up!" The tall demon snarled his command. "Get him closer. I want him to see what his stubbornness has caused."

It took them both to upright the bound man and to drag his chair across the room to Dean, he was struggling just that furiously. But once they had him in place, they yanked off the pillowcase, and left Dean to stare into the face of his father. John Winchester was beaten and bloody, but mostly he was just angry beyond reason. He stilled when his eyes found Dean, bound in the chair in front of him. Dean could see his dad doing his patented John Winchester, all-over evaluation, knew he noted Dean's bruises, the blood drying on his face, and the blood blanketing his chest from the bullet wound. He was still gagged, but his eyes traveled to Dean's and asked a single question, "You alright?"

Dean nodded. "I'm fine, Dad. You?"

John nodded and glared up at the demon standing over Dean. The demon laughed. "I think he's pissed, Keith."

The tall demon leaned down and looked into John's face. "Awww. Are you pissed, John?" He looked back to the demon standing behind Dean and nodded. "Give him something to really be pissed about, Drake."

With that, Drake reached down with both hands and grabbed Dean's injured shoulder. He dug ten strong fingers into the tender flesh over his bullet wound. Dean screamed in frustration and pain, and tried to pull away from the man's powerful grip, but there was only so far he could move before his restraints caught him fast. He sat, gasping, with his head down and spots swirling before his eyes as he prayed for his vision to clear and for the pain to subside to a bearable throb. He could hear John cursing in anger across from him.

Keith laughed coldly, "What Deano? No smart-assed remark? See John, that there is a bullet wound - caused by your own gun, I should add. Poor Dean got that while he was trying to keep me from having my way with your youngest. That Sammy. Damn. He's one fine piece of hunter, John. Simply delicious." He laughed at the panic that suddenly appeared in John's eyes. The hunter's eyes narrowed, and the demon suddenly knew that if John Winchester ever got loose, he'd just sealed his fate by uttering those words.

"Never happened, Dad." Dean growled through his pain. "The bastard's lying."

Keith knelt down by Dean's ear. "Day's not over yet, Dean." he leered, and Dean was suddenly more thankful than ever that Sam had made his escape when he did.

Dean raised his head and glared into Keith's black pits, "You touch him that way, and you die." he said simply. "That's a fucking promise."

"You're in no position to be keeping any promises to your brother right now, are you Dean?" Keith teased. "Hell, Drake and I could drag clueless little Sammy in here right now and toss him down in front of you both." He looked over at John then, "And there's not a damn thing either of you could do to stop us doing whatever we wanted for as long as we wanted." He got right up in John's face and leered. "We could take our sweet, sweet time, couldn't we John?"

Dean watched the murderous glint form in his father's eyes, but he saw pain there too and fear. And he wanted to do anything he could to ease them.

"We saved him from shit like that in Poughkeepsie that time." he said, using their safe word. "We can do it again, right Dad?" cluing John in to the fact that Sam was safe and away.

John stared at Dean, covering, and nodded. But Dean saw the desperation leave his father's eyes and saw his breathing calm.

But Dean wasn't the only one who saw. Keith stood looking one from to the other, noting John's instant change in demeanor. He turned on Dean, "What the fuck did you just tell him?" He demanded.

Dean winked and grinned, "You ain't our first rodeo, Skippy." With that, Keith roared and backhanded Dean across the face - once, twice, three times. Blood exploded from Dean's nose and splattered across his jeans and the carpet in front of him.

Keith barked at Drake. "He fucking knows something! Go check on the kid, and drag his frozen ass in here!" He got down in Dean's face. "You better pray this shit goes according to plan, Deano." He snarled. Or you don't even want to think about what I'm gonna do to your precious little Sammy. You got that?"

"Fuck you." Dean managed through split and swollen lips. It was a small victory, but damn, it felt good.

But Drake was back in an instant, "Kid's gone!" He yelled.

Keith roared and kicked Dean's chair viciously. "What do you mean, gone? Kid was beat half to death and locked in the damned trunk. Who the fuck let him out?"

"Found this inside," Drake held up Dean's lock pick kit and mini flashlight.

Dean snickered. "Fucking amateurs"

Keith glared down at Dean. "How'd you know?" He growled, fisting Dean's hair and yanking him backwards so hard the two front legs of his chair came off the floor. "How'd you fucking know?"

"The attic window." Drake chimed in. "He watched him through the window. Had to be then."

"When?" Keith growled at Dean. "How long ago? Which way did he go?"

"Bite me."

Keith stood with nostrils flaring, trying to take in this latest development, when Dean couldn't resist getting in one last dig.

"You'll never catch him. Sam's too fast. And he's too smart. He's reached help by now. Your little plan's already in the crapper there, Keith. Only chance you got is to pack it up and run like hell before Sam's back with reinforcements."


	18. Rescue Me

Keith and Drake stood staring at each other over Dean's head.

"Couldn't have been more than a few minutes." Drake reasoned.

Keith nodded. "And if you were a hunter's kid and all the family you owned was tied up and maybe slated for torture, what would you do? Would you run?" He looked down at John. "I'm betting you taught your boy better than that, Johnny." He crouched down between the two Winchesters, addressing them both. "In fact, I'm betting that Sammy's out there right now, still within shouting distance. Waiting to make his move. What do you think, Deano?"

Dean sneered, "You're wrong. Sam's knows when to fish and when to cut bait. He's not stupid."

"No, he's not stupid. But he is loyal, especially to big bro." The demon suddenly grinned eerily, "And I think I know just the thing to lure him back. Question is … who gets the honors?" He stood up and yanked John's gag out of his mouth. "What do you say, Johnny? Is Sammy more likely to run home for you or for big bro here?"

"Dean's right." John answered, his voice raspy. "Sam's long gone. We have friends nearby. He knows that. He's gone for help."

Keith chuckled. "You got no friends here. This is our neck of the woods. No hunters within a hundred miles. Why do you think we picked it? Which means …" he snapped his fingers, "Ta da! Only one thing to do - rescue his family by himself. Now he don't know Daddy Winchester is in the house, but I'm sure there's nothing he wouldn't do to save Deano over here." He nodded to Drake.

"Take him outside and hang him up. Lose the shirt for good measure." He looked down at John. "Sammy will come back if it means not letting his brother die, am I right?"

"You're making a mistake." John growled menacingly. "If you want bait, I'm the one. Sam won't walk away from me. He's too good a soldier for that." He said, trying to shift their attention from Dean onto himself.

Keith smiled. "Nice try, Big Dog." He said, shoving John's gag back in place. "But it takes a pup to lure a pup." He winked as Drake cut the ropes holding Dean to his chair and yanked him roughly to his feet. "Use the tree out by the driveway. Hoist him up good. I want him on full display and swinging in the wind." he ordered.

John cursed and struggled and glared as Drake and another demon wrestled Dean from the room, and he felt an odd sort of pride that, injured as he was, it still took the strength of two demons to best his oldest son. Dean was making it as hard for the two as possible until one used the butt of his gun across Dean's skull to still him. Dean went out then, and they dragged him, like a dead man, through the house and out into the frigid yard.

When he came back to his senses, Dean's first sensation was pain. His shoulder felt like someone had simply torn it off. The wound in his side throbbed like a bastard, and he had a headache to rival anything he'd ever felt in his life. Suddenly he had a new appreciation for Sam's ability to survive those migraines he was so prone to.

And he was cold. So damned cold. His shirt was gone, and he wore only his jeans with the holes in both knees. They'd made good on their word and swung him from the lowest branch of the ancient oak tree that guarded the drive. He hung from his hands, both feet suspended just inches off the ground.

The first thing Dean wished for was death - the pain was just that bad. The second was that the demons had been way off the mark when they reasoned that Sam was still in the area. Dean knew it looked like he was all alone when they hung him out to literally twist in the wind, but he was sure at least two pairs of black eyes were on him at all times. If Sammy made an appearance, they'd have him in a heartbeat.

"Please, Sam" he begged silently, "Please be gone." He knew the kind of fate that awaited his baby brother should he fall back into demon hands, and Dean knew that none of them would survive it.

During those times when he was conscious, his eyes scanned the treeline constantly, searching for a flash of the light blue shirt and denim jacket Sam had been wearing. If he caught sight of his brother, he wanted to have time to warn him off.

But things had been quiet so far. It had to be nearing daylight by now, and that gave Dean hope that Sam really had cut and run for help and also that the sun would rise and warm things up a bit. Those thoughts were the only things that kept him hanging on as the blood from his shoulder wound and his nose and from the slash on his ribs literally froze to his skin. It was well below freezing when you figured in wind chill, and Dean was pretty sure he'd be dead from hypothermia before noon.

But suddenly, Dean caught a flash of movement near the shed. He was careful to swing just his eyes and not his body in that direction as he saw just the faintest outline of his brother. Sam wore a black turtleneck and his face and hands were covered in what looked to be thick, black mud, making him nearly invisible in the dark night. He saw Sam approach the frost-free spigot and silently attach a garden hose that had a spray nozzle screwed onto the end. Sam slipped behind the shed then, and from his vantage point, Dean saw his brother test the water pressure as a fine mist shot forth from the nozzle. Sam locked the nozzle into the open position, so it was shooting water constantly in a wide, fine arc, then he stood behind the shed, out of sight of the house, and swung the hose like a lasso. He released it at the top of an arc, and it landed three feet in front of Dean, blasting him, and the ground in a wide radius around him, with frigid water.

Then just like that, Sam was gone.

Dean waited, too cold to even shiver in the spray. There was no movement from the house. Sam's actions had been carried out in total silence, and the hose and the fine mist of water was invisible to anyone watching.

It was a good twenty minutes before Sam made his next move, and Dean was as soaked as the ground around him. Just as day began to break, Dean heard a noise off to the left, and suddenly Sam was standing in the treeline, wearing his light blue shirt and jacket. He was visible from the house too, as two demons shot out the door and made a beeline for his brother. But before Dean could shout a warning, Sam was there beside him, all in black and having never made a noise. He sliced silently through the rope holding his brother, and tossed Dean over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. And when the demons suddenly realized they'd been had by a tree stump wearing Sam's clothes, they doubled back and ran right into the spray made by the water hose - from the well that Sam had christened with holy water.

Sam disappeared into the woods with his brother in tow as the two demons writhed in agony on the wet ground, trapped in a mist of holy water and smoking like a pork barbecue on a hot summer day.


	19. One Catastrophe at a Time

Sam carried his brother carefully over the salt line that he'd placed meticulously inside the front door of the vacation home he'd commandeered last night. It was warm inside the house, Sam having cranked up the furnace and built a fire in the fireplace. He knew warmth was vital if his brother was going to live to see another day. He'd been watching the house off and on since he'd made his break, and his heart nearly stopped when he'd seen two demons drag his unconscious brother outside, half-naked, and string him up like a pinata. Sam had felt rage then - not a feeling he was familiar with. Sam often felt sad or angry or sometimes, even hopeless. But he rarely felt rage or fury.

Those emotions were reserved for people older than himself who'd seen more of what the world had to offer - people like Dad or even Dean. But Sam? Sam couldn't think of anyone that he truly hated. There were plenty of people that he didn't want to be around ever again, but to say that he hated them would be untrue.

But the demons who did this to his brother - them he hated. And he knew that should the opportunity arise, he could kill them easily without a single flare of conscience. They had treated Dean cruelly, without concern for his pain or his suffering, and for those sins, Sam could never find forgiveness.

"Stay with me, Dean." Sam pleaded, as he placed his battered brother carefully on the couch in front of the fire. He cut the rope that still bound Dean's hands together swiftly and gently helped him lower them to his sides. Dean cried out in agony as the blood flooded back into his tortured limbs, causing pain as sharp as knife points.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sam kept up his comforting cacophony as he set about warming his brother. He grabbed the blanket that had been warming in front of the fire and tucked it around Dean tightly. Over that, he placed a heavy quilt he'd found in a hall closet. When he was sure that he'd done all that he could in the living room, he moved to the small bath off the hall and ran a tub of hot water.

"Come on, Dean." He said. "Gotta get you in some warm water, raise your body temperature. You feel like a freaking Popsicle."

Dean was too cold to speak, but he shot Sam the best copy of his bitch face that he could manage with near hypothermia, and Sam chuckled. "Even frozen solid, you can still find the strength to bitch at me." he accused, good-naturedly.

"Can you walk? Or am I carrying?" Sam pulled Dean to a sitting position and then tried to raise him to his feet, but his brother was dead weight. "All righty. Carrying it is." But first he stretched Dean out and gently tugged off his wet jeans. Then he picked him up with his one good arm and slung him over his shoulder.

"T-too h-h-heavy." Dean chattered softly, trying to object, but Sam just stumbled forward and eased his brother down on the closed toilet as gently as possible, which was really more like a rough plop, and Dean winced at the impact.

"Sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry." Sam chanted, sliding his brother carefully from toilet to tub, which was no easy feat one-handed. Dean saw Sam's struggle and did his best to help, but his body was simply too cold and too abused to respond.

"S-sorry, S-s-sammy," Dean stammered, "C-can't d-do much."

"It's okay. I got you." Sam assured him. getting him fully into the tub. And when Dean felt his frozen, aching body submerge in the hot water that felt like spikes piercing his very soul, he couldn't help spasming and letting out a howl of pain.

The sound brought tears to Sam's eyes, but he stayed firm. "Sorry, Dean. Gotta warm you up or you're not be around much longer. I'm sorry, man. It's gotta be done. You hear me?" Sam cradled Dean's face in his hands and stared straight into his eyes. "It's gonna feel better in a minute, okay Dean? I promise. Just stay with me."

Dean gazed back at Sam through clenched teeth and managed to nod around the needles that encased him on all sides. He gasped for each breath, and each one he managed was pure agony, but slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to ease up. Eventually, he was warm enough to shiver once again. And when he reached that point, Sam drained the tub and refilled it with fresh hot water. Then he added soap and a washcloth and began gently cleaning the dried and frozen blood off his brother's torso.

"As soon as you can walk, I'll sneak back and steal the car." Sam explained. "And then we'll get the hell out of Dodge - come back with reinforcements." he smiled.

Dean shook his head. "C-can't l-leave Dad." He managed to utter.

Sam looked confused. "Yeah, we'll call Dad as soon as we're away, okay?"

Dean looked at Sam sadly, hating to be the one to break the bad news to his already damaged little brother, but he knew Sam had a right to know." N-no Sam." He clarified. "Th-they have D-dad."

Sam froze, washcloth forgotten, 'What?" He asked, suddenly feeling sick.

"D-dad." It was all Dean could muster. Suddenly, his body felt like it belonged to someone else, and he felt himself fading. "Samm …" he managed, before losing consciousness altogether.

"Dean?" Sam shook him, suddenly panicked. "Dean!"

But his brother was out cold. Sam felt feverishly for a heartbeat and was relieved to find it pumping away strongly. He sighed then, and suddenly wondered how the hell he was going to get Dad out of the nest.

But Sam would think about that when the time came. Right now, he had to get Dean warmed up, get some painkillers into him, get the bullet out of him and restitch his ribs. Then he'd think about Dad. One catastrophe at a time. That was the Winchester way.


	20. The Coolest Baby Brother on the Planet

Sam found a thermometer in the medicine cabinet, and he held it under Dean's tongue until he got a reading that reassured him. Then he let the water out of the tub and wrestled his brother out and onto a wheeled office chair that he'd found in the den. He transported him back to the couch, towel-dried him and wrestled him into clean pairs of boxers and sweats that he'd found in a drawer of the bedroom. Whoever stayed here in the summer was close to his brother's size and was also a bit of a clotheshorse, which explained Sam's turtleneck as well. And he chuckled when he pictured Dean discovering the borrowed underwear. Then Sam went to work on the bullet wound.

Happily, the slug had gone straight through and all Sam had to do was place a few stitches at the entry and exit wounds, disinfect them with the peroxide he found in the bathroom, and bandage them accordingly. This house had everything Sam had needed so far - including a well-stocked first aid kit - if he didn't know better, he'd have suspected that this was a hunter hangout.

Once the bullet wound was tended, it was an easy chore to restitch the gash over Dean's ribs. Everything else was mostly small cuts and bruises. And once he was done, he pulled a warm sweatshirt over his brother's head and threaded his good arm through one sleeve. Then he went searching for any type of painkillers. He struck out until he searched the nightstand by the bed where he found some over-the-counter migraine medicine. The bottle was extra-strength and nearly full, and again, Sam couldn't help but wonder at the way things were falling into place.

"Dean. Wake up." Sam shook his brother gently.

Dean groaned.

"Hey, you with me, big brother?"

Slowly, Dean's eyes opened, and he found himself looking into the eyes of one concerned baby brother. The next thing he realized was that he felt warm and comfortable, except for the pain that throbbed in his shoulder and along his ribs. Somehow, Sam had managed to cut him down from the tree and bring him to this safe refuge where he'd tended to his wounds and staved off hypothermia. Suddenly Dean was so proud of his little brother that he felt tears in his eyes.

"Heya, Sammy." He smiled. "I think you saved my life, little bro."

Sam smiled back, "Well, you better wait till the painkillers kick in before you thank me too much. Had to stitch your bullet wound and your gash again. Here," he said, placing two pills in Dean's hand. "Take these. They'll help."

Dean frowned down at the capsules, "What are they?" He asked, afraid of taking something that might knock him out and keep him from looking out for Sam.

Sam showed him the bottle, "they're innocuous enough. Nothing too strong. But they should take the edge off, at least."

Dean swallowed the pills with the cup of water Sam offered. "Where are we?"

"Not far, unfortunately." Sam explained. "One house over, but I warded it good. I'm sure they'll find us, but they're not getting in."

Dean sat looking at Sam, a small smile on his face.

"What?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm just proud of you, Sammy. I thought for sure I was dead if you'd gone for help and that you were dead if you hadn't. It was a lose-lose situation all around, but then you came slithering out of the woods like freaking special ops and took out two demons all on your own. Way to go bro."

Sam grinned. "I found the well cap and spiked the well with holy water. Sorry about the cold shower, but I wanted you warded just in case they didn't fall for the old clothes on the stump trick."

Dean thought back, "How'd you make the noise to draw them off to the left?

Sam shrugged, "Threw a rock."

Dean grinned. "Dude, I have the coolest baby brother on the planet."

Sam snorted, "Just the most desperate. You still owe me money."

"Bitch, you owe me $20. But after today, we'll call it even. Whaddaya say?" He slapped Sam on the shoulder.

Sam winced before he could help himself. "Sounds good, Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Off with the shirt." He said, suddenly struggling to sit up.

Sam's eyes grew wide. "Dean, you need to stay still and rest."

"I'm fine now, thanks to you. But you're hurting, I can tell." He positioned himself until he was perched on the edge of the couch cushion, then he worked his injured arm carefully into the sleeve of the sweatshirt. "Who keeps turtlenecks and sweats in a summer home?" He wondered.

"Almost seems like hunters stay here." Sam said, slipping painfully out of the soaked and sodden turtleneck.

Dean's breath caught at the sight of Sam's arm opened back up and at the colorful assortment of bruises along his torso. "That from the trunk ride or me?" He asked, feeling sick.

"Trunk, I guess. Did anything else happen while I was out?" Sam asked, inhaling sharply when Dean applied pressure.

Dean shook his head, "No, not unless it happened after you climbed out of the car and headed off into the woods."

Sam shook his head, "Guess it was the trunk then. Must have been some ride."

"You're not kidding. It's good you were out of it. Trust me on that, Sammy."

Dean glanced around, "Is there a first aid kit?"

Sam reached around behind himself and handed the oversized kit to his brother.

Dean's eyebrows raised, "Think they knew we were coming?"

Sam snorted. "I'm sure of it. Warm clothes. Firewood chopped and waiting. Tons of salt in the kitchen, and a first aid kit that would make any hunter jealous."

Dean cleaned the wound on Sam's arm but held off on bandaging it. "Dude, you need a shower and dry clothes." He said, taking in Sam's muddy face and hands and the wet jeans he wore. "Then I'll bandage you up, okay?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't know, Dean." He hedged. "They're going to come looking sooner or later. We need to be on our toes."

"Hey, I'm on it, okay? You go take a shower. I'll keep the wolves from the door."

Sam looked at Dean and bit his lower lip. "So .. Dad hunh?"

Dean sobered instantly. "Yeah. Got him tied to a chair and gagged. I think they planned to use us against him. It's good we got away. At least they can't use us to force him to give out intel."

"He's okay though, right?"

Dean's eyes widened, "Oh hell yeah, Sammy. He's fine. You know Dad. He's more pissed than hurt. Now go." He shoved his brother toward the bathroom, and smiled with pride as he watched him go.


	21. An Unacceptable Exchange

When Sam moved to the shower, Dean took up residence at the window that faced the lake cottage. It was so close he could see it through the trees, and Sam was right.

They were coming.

Dean saw them the moment they stepped out onto the front porch. It was Drake and Keith - the one Sam knew as Teddy. And John Winchester stumbled along between them with a pillowcase over his head, his hands tied and shackles on both ankles.

Dean moved quickly through the house, double-checking salt lines and warding, then he rapped quickly on the bathroom door. "Zip it up, Sammy. They're coming."

Dean searched for something they could use as weapons, finding only salt and iron fireplace tools. Those would have to do. But upstairs in a jewelry box, he found a rosary, and quickly moved to fill the kitchen sink and drop it in to make more holy water.

By the time the demon duo and their hostage made it through the sparse woods and into the front yard, Sam was dressed and standing strong beside Dean at the window.

"We need to talk." Keith called out.

"You let our father go, and we can talk all night." Dean yelled back.

But instead of continuing the conversation, Keith separated from John and Drake. He moved up onto the porch to try the door. When he found it warded against him, he moved to the window where Dean and Sam stood, just a thin pane of glass and a generous salt line separating them.

Keith smiled, and Dean's heart dropped into his feet. Suddenly, he didn't want to hear what was coming.

"I came to offer up an exchange."

Dean scowled. "What kind of exchange?" He barked.

"You get your dad - unhurt, safe and sound. And you have my word of honor that we'll let you walk away."

Dean didn't like where this was heading. "Cause everyone knows you can trust a demon," he quipped, "And in return?"

Keith turned his gaze on Sam. "You give us Sammy."

Well, that wasn't happening. "Fuck you." Dean said immediately.

Keith shrugged. "We get Sam, and you and Daddy-o walk away safe. Or," He continued coldly, "We kill your father in front of you. Kill you next. And take Sam anyway."

Dean glanced at Sam, hating his pale face and trembling hands. "Nobody is taking Sam anywhere." He answered calmly. "Why do you want him anyway?"

Keith shot a hate-filled stare toward the youngest Winchester. "Because little Sammy here is going to cause more trouble than he's worth a decade from now, and that needs to be prevented.

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What, you from the fucking future now?"

"Trust me on this. Little Sam is going to go darker than a stack of black cats, and since every plan up til now has failed to take him out, We're going to end this here, today."

"What does that mean, every plan?" Sam asked softly, as Dean watched him closely.

"You were supposed to take care of this for us Sammy." Keith replied.

"It's Sam." Dean snarled.

Keith shrugged, "You foiled our little session in the bar where we planned to haul him out the back, and then again at the bridge." His gaze shifted to Dean. "You've been quite the pain in our collective ass, Deano."

Dean grinned. "Damn straight I have."

"We enlisted a little help inside your school Sam. Remember sweet little Alisha?"

Dean snorted, "Have you met the bitch?"

Keith chuckled, "Well, she was sweet once. And sweet on you, Sammy. Big time." The demon winked at Sam. "Just couldn't stop gushing about how tall you were, how smart you were, how … now let me think of the words she used … how you had such intoxicating eyes, and that smile. Sigh. Just to die over, you know? Of course, then Mira possessed her and set about making your life a living hell."

Sam was shaking all over now.

"And then, from there, it was just a warm body here and there - a couple of dumb jocks, a frustrated coach - to drive the idea home."

Dean frowned, "What idea?"

Keith shot Dean a blazing smile, "Why to kill himself of course. He was so close. Weren't you Sam? That night in the creek? You never meant to survive that now, did you?"

Sam stared at the demon, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "You … you made me feel that way? All … all that hopelessness and loneliness and … self loathing? That was you?"

Dean had never felt so terrified in his life as he watched the exchange happening between his little brother and the son of a bitch that stood just a foot away. Sam had tried to kill himself?

"Guilty!" the demon giggled with glee. "Of course, Deano here helped push you over the edge the night he beat the living shit out of you. That was just an unexpected bonus." He glanced over at Dean, "Say Dean. I ever thank you for that, buddy?"

Dean stood glaring at the demon, blood pounding so hard in his veins that he could barely see. Anger like he'd never experienced before in his life flooded over him. Those bastards had tried to make Sam kill himself. They'd toyed with his emotions and manipulated people in his life until he'd felt abandoned and hopeless and alone. Then Dean had stepped in and finished the job. Why Sam failed that night was of little importance. The only thing that mattered was that Sam had tried. His little brother - the center of Dean's world for as long as he could remember - had felt so lost and hopeless that he'd tried to die. And all this after Dean had failed him so epically.

"Sam … " Dean stuttered, gazing at the younger boy. "Sammy … I - I'm so sorry."


	22. I'll Still Be Here, I Promise

The demon glanced back and forth between the two brothers, "Well," he said delightedly, rubbing his hands together, "I see my work here is done. I'll leave you to it. Just don't wait too long in making your decision." he warned. "I'd hate to see poor old Dad accidentally get himself gutted on the front lawn."

Dean shot him a look that might easily have killed a lesser man.

"My my my," Keith gushed, "You looked pissed, Dean. Remember, we get Sam, or Daddy dies, you die … hell! Everyone dies!" He walked off laughing.

Sam instantly turned away from the window, pressing his back flat against the wall next to it. He stood there, trying to get a handle on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly, Dean was across from him.

"Sammy," He said, forcing his brother to look at him, "Sammy, say it's not true. Tell me that black-eyed bastard was lying. Tell me you didn't - that you … you wouldn't. Please, Sam." Dean pleaded.

Sam closed his eyes. How he didn't want to have this conversation, but he couldn't lie - not to Dean. He could stay quiet and not share everything he knew. He could wheedle and whine and annoy his brother. He could argue with him and even throw a punch if he needed to.

But he couldn't lie.

Not to Dean.

Not ever.

He caught his breath before it became a sob, and nodded. "It's true, Dean." He said regretfully.

Dean stared at him, eyes watering. One word was all he spoke, "Why?"

Sam shook his head, unable to speak. He'd never meant for anyone to find out that he'd tried to take the easy way out - that he'd tried to drown himself in the stream that night. He still had no idea how he'd survived it. He just remembered lowering his face into the water and breathing in. The next thing he knew, he'd woken up on the couch with Dean slumped uncomfortably in the chair across from him. He couldn't share the details with Dean - not now, not ever. He couldn't admit that as low as he'd sunk, he had still been determined to keep going until Dean had raised his hands against him. When he'd felt that first punch that was all angry and not a bit playful, his soul had just given up. When it became apparent to Sam that Dean intended to hurt him too - just as much as all the kids at school and Bonnie's dad and the two assholes at the bar - when it became clear that Dean felt the same way, that was the exact moment that Sam had abandoned all hope.

There wasn't anything left to stick around for if he'd lost Dean too, so why bother?

But Sam could never - would never - put that burden on his brother. He'd happily go to his grave carrying that secret, especially now that it looked like that moment would be coming sooner than expected.

So he just shook his head and muttered, "Dunno. It was just all too much, I guess."

Dean just stared at him a moment before reaching out and pulling him into a crushing embrace. He spoke through tears, "Don't you EVER, and I mean EVER think about pulling a stunt like that again Sam. You hear me. I will KICK your ASS!"

But Sam remained silent.

Dean pulled back and looked Sam in the eye. "Sammy? You hear me? You promise me right now!"

Sam's whole body shook as silent tears streamed down his face. He looked at Dean, who was studying him so hopefully, and knew that he was going to have to break his brother's heart. "Dean, I can't." He said softly.

Dean's face contorted, "What?"

Sam swallowed, "Dean. It's Dad. I-I can't."

Dean stared at his brother, not understanding at first. Then suddenly the light dawned, and he looked as furious as he'd ever been in his life. He shook Sam. Hard. "So what? You're gonna sacrifice yourself to save Dad? Is that the plan that's hatching inside that geek brain of yours? Cause that's a shit plan, Sam, and you know it! Dammit! I thought you were smarter than that!"

Sam stood sadly looking back at Dean, resignation and fear broadcast across his face. "Dean, I have to. I can't … can't let them kill Dad … and … and you." His voice broke. "Not if I can stop it. I can't. I won't."

Dean swallowed painfully, "Sammy, God help me, if I ever have to choose between you and Dad. It's … it's no contest. I'll pick you every time, Sam. It's my job to look out for you. Keep you safe. Dad knows that. He's the one who's pounded it into me from the time I was four. Sammy," he said, tears finally overflowing green eyes and running in graceful rivulets down pale cheeks, "nothing bad is ever gonna happen to you as long as I'm around. You hear me? Not you k-killing yourself, not you getting jumped at some bar, and not you giving your life to save Dad's. He wouldn't want that Sam. You hear me? Hell, he'd kick my ass for the rest of my life if I let that happen. Is that what you want? Me getting my ass kicked for the next fifty years?"

Sam snorted then, and swiped at his face.

Out in the yard, they heard Keith yell, "Ten minutes, boys. Ten minutes to decide and then Daddy Winchester takes one right between the eyes."

Sam suddenly looked so scared that it broke Dean's heart into forty pieces. He helped his shaking brother over the the couch and sat him down. "Listen to me. Just listen, Sam. We're going to think of a way out of this, you hear me?" He began pacing.

But Sam knew there was no other way. They were trapped. Dad was helpless. They had ten minutes. Sam had ten minutes to decide whether he had the courage to give up his life to save his father ...

to save Dean.

But ten minutes was nine minutes and 59 seconds longer than he needed. He already knew what he had to do - had known it from the minute the demon had first issued his ultimatum.

"Dean," he said, suddenly excited. "the colt!"

Dean whirled, "The colt? The colt's in the trunk of the car?"

Sam stood up, shakily, "No! It's- it's in the bathroom, in the top drawer. I put it there when I ran your bath. I-I forgot!" So much for not lying, Sam thought to himself.

Dean grinned, "Sammy, I love you!" He raced to the bathroom, Sam right behind him. He yanked open the top drawer and found nothing but neatly folded washcloths. "Sam? What …?" He started.

But Sam had already pushed the door closed quietly behind his brother and jammed a chair under the latch. He leaned against it on the other side, waiting for Dean to make the connection. "I'm sorry, Dean." He whispered.

"Sam? Where is it?" Dean asked, turning around to find the door closed.

And then reality hit him like a lightning bolt, and he felt cold fear. "Saaaam!" He yelled, throwing his weight against the door. "Dammit, you open this door! Don't you do this! Don't you make me and Dad have to live with this for the rest of our lives, Sam! Don't you dare!"

In the living room, Sam moved quietly to the front door, trembling with fear. He rested his forehead against it. "I love you, too, big brother." He said softly, and pulled the door open, careful not to break the salt line. He stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.

Keith was behind him in a flash, knife to his throat. "I got you, Sammy." He whispered in Sam's ear, making the boy flinch.

"Let him go." Sam growled, nodding toward his father.

Keith nodded, and Drake pulled the pillowcase off John's head.

John squinted against the sudden brightness, and when his eyes adjusted, he saw the demon on the porch, holding his youngest son at knife point. He growled and tried to wrench himself away from the demon who held him.

"Well, Johnny." Keith said, pulling Sam along with him down the steps. "As much as I long to stick a knife between your ribs, a deal is a deal. I guess you get to live after all." He stopped Sam right in front of his father. "Too bad little Sammy won't get that same opportunity."

John saw Sam's eyes widen in fear at the promised threat, and he longed to comfort the boy. He stared into the eyes of his youngest and tried to transfer all his strength and hope over to him.

It was all he could give him.

But Sam suddenly smiled at his father, like he'd received the gift. "Goodbye Dad." He said softly. "Tell Dean …" His voice broke and he had to clear his throat. "T-tell Dean I'm sorry. Tell him this is my chance to watch over him from now on, okay? To watch over you both. I'll still be here, Dad. I promise."

John roared through his gag as the demon dragged his youngest son away. And he fought Drake as he dragged John toward the house. But the demon just spun John away from Sam and brought the butt of John's .45 down on the back of his head, knocking him cold.

Drake joined Keith and Sam then in the driveway. And in the blink of an eye, the trio was gone.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I'm not sure if it's the holiday or just a glitch, but I'm not able to access the last several reviews on this story. Hopefully, it's being well received. And if you've reviewed recently, and I haven't thanked you personally, this is the reason why. Thanks to everyone who is hanging in there and following, favoriting or reviewing. We still have a ways to go, so don't abandon all hope just yet ;)_


	23. A Distressing Lack of Human Contact

It took Dean seven-and-a-half minutes to barrel his way through the solid wood bathroom door. He burst onto the front porch just in time to see the second demon join his brother in the driveway. Dean saw Sam caught in the cruel strangle hold, a wicked-looking knife held to his slim throat, and recognized the look on his face as terror. But in the next instant, Dean's eyes locked with Sam's, and Sammy offered him a brave smile anyway.

"Jerk." Sam mouthed affectionately.

And then he was gone.

"No! Saaaaaaaam!" Dean cried, sprinting to the place he'd last seen his brother, his best friend, his number-one and probably only reason for staying alive on this entire shitty planet.

But the only reminder of the geeky boy whom Dean loved more than life itself was the faint scent of body wash on the chilled breeze. Dean dropped to his knees, and all the pain and regret and despair of his twenty years burst forth in a single, keening cry.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!"

Dean didn't know how long he knelt there in the dirt as the crispy skeletons of dried oak leaves rattled around him. But suddenly, he realized that he wasn't alone in his desolation. It took everything he had to shift his mind away from his last image of Sam, looking so brave yet so alone, and drag himself to his feet. He stumbled over to where his father lay unconscious on the ground.

"Dad." Dean shook his father gently. "Dad, wake up. Can you hear me?"

But when John gave no response, Dean hoisted him, with difficulty, over his remaining good shoulder and carried him swiftly into the house.

* * *

Sam missed the feel of human contact and the sound of people talking right away. He missed brotherly knee bumps and back pats. He missed the way Dad always mussed his hair just to annoy him. He missed the way Bonnie had clung to him in the Hurricane Blitz, and he missed the occasional hug that Dean would offer when Sam was at his lowest.

His new situation was horrible, and Sam hated it. He'd thought he'd felt lonely before, but loneliness like that was nothing compared to the utter and total isolation brought on by hours and hours of no human contact whatsoever. He missed his father. He missed Bonnie and Bryce.

But mostly he just sat on the floor beside a big, comfortable bed and missed Dean. His thoughts moved swiftly because there were no distractions - riding in the Impala, pranking his brother and getting pranked back ten times worse, eating pizza, playing cards. He even missed hunting. Though mostly that was because he missed the feel of warm hands on his skin and the way that Dean or Dad would gently patch him up after he'd been hurt.

But he certainly couldn't complain about his accommodations. The two demons had brought him to a bedroom and left him there. The room was bright. It was cheerful. It was warm and decorated in decor clearly meant to please a 16-year-old boy. There was a double bed that was long enough to accommodate Sam's lanky height. And on it lay layers of clean sheets and soft blankets, topped off with a navy blue comforter. There was a plush, gray-checked rug on the floor. The room was big enough to house a small couch and recliner, and there was a wide-screen television and some type of expensive-looking gaming console on the coffee table.

In his initial circuit around the room, Sam discovered two important things - the room had no door, and the only window was a generous skylight in the ceiling that was a good twenty feet in the air. Also, there were no books. There was, however, a separate bath with a door that locked.

It was, technically, the room that Sam always pictured when he envisioned "normal." In fact, it was the room of his dreams right down to the extra-long bed. Except for the omission of a door that worked, and a few sturdy bookcases full of reading material, the room to which the demons brought Sam could have been plucked right out of his own imagination.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The first twenty-four or so hours that Sam lived in the room was spent shouting for help and making round after round of the walls and floor, searching for an escape route. He even tried stacking couches, chairs and tables to try to reach the skylight. But there weren't enough objects in the room to provide the height he needed. He tried using a leg that he broke off the coffee table to pound through the drywall, but the room was apparently sealed in a supernatural way. Nothing he could find would make even the slightest dent.

Three times in that first twenty-four hours, a demon appeared in the room, tray in hand. It was someone different every time, and when Sam tried to talk to him or her, they ignored him completely. The demons popped in only to place a tray of food and drink on the nightstand, and then they disappeared as soundlessly as they came.

Sam didn't eat at first. The thought of putting something in his mouth that the demons had touched made him feel ill. Eventually, though, his hunger overcame his disgust, and he peeked at the food beneath the warming hood. It looked delicious - two hot ham and cheese sandwiches with a side salad, a tall sweet iced tea, and some type of chocolately mousse concoction for dessert. Sam ate everything on the tray. Then, for breakfast, Sam was graced with an oversized blueberry muffin, a dish of fresh fruit, orange juice, coffee, and sides of cream cheese and whipped cream. There were never any utensils with the meals though, and Sam had to eat his fruit with his fingers or sip his soup straight from the bowl.

The food was delicious and plentiful. The room was cozy. And during the daytime, a generous amount of sun shone through the skylight and gave him his needed dose of vitamin D while warming his soul. At night, Sam could lay in the bed and look up at the stars.

Still, he was miserable as he waited desperately for rescue, knowing in his heart that Dean and Dad would never stop searching and silently trying to send them mental messages to let them know he was still alive.

Sam had no clock, no watch, no way to keep the time other than the passage of the sun over his skylight and the path that the moon took at night. He used a screw from the coffee table to mark the passage of time on the footboard of his bed. And as the hours turned into days, he tried desperately not to panic.


	24. It Had to Be Something Big

"They're not going to kill him, Dean." John sat behind the wheel of the Impala, rocketing toward the motel. "You can trust me on that. Wherever they're keeping him, he's … safe."

Dean looked over at his father like he'd lost his mind. "He's with demons, Dad. What the hell? Of course he's not safe!"

John shook his head, "Dean, listen to me. There's a reason I didn't bring you boys along on this hunt. There's a reason I had you and Sam stay behind. There was no werewolf, not even in the beginning. It was always a demon thing."

Dean stared. "What!"

I met with … with Missouri. She told me some things. Things you're not going to want to hear, son."

"If it's something to do with Sam, you better believe I want to hear it. What are you keeping from me, Dad? Start talking."

John sighed. "The demons. They ... don't fear Sam. They don't want him dead. Trust me on that point." he said again.

"Why do they want him then, if not to kill him? And what was all that crap about him going darkside 10 years from now?"

"They told you that so you'd stop looking for him. So you'd think it was futile. But that part about … about Sammy in ten years … " he trailed off.

"What Dad?"

"Missouri thinks that part is true."

"And?"

"And she thinks Sam is slated to become some kind of demon … boy king … or something."

Dean stared at his father. "That's bullshit!"

John shook his head. "She's been right about everything else, Dean. Everything. Anytime I've gone to Missouri for help, she was spot-on."

"Sam. A demon. Leading other demons." Dean snorted at the outrageousness of it all. "Dad, Sam can't pet a damn dog's fur the wrong way."

"A lot can happen in ten years, son." John said softly.

But Dean just shook his head. "No way. She's wrong on this one, Dad. I guarantee it."

John looked over, "But if she's right, Dean, it's the only thing keeping your brother alive."

Dean thought about that for a moment. "So you're saying the demons believe this bullshit too? That they're, what? Protecting Sam? That they're planning to raise him or something?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Well fuck that. I got news for them. Sam belongs to me. He's my brother, and I don't fucking share."

John nodded. "Well get him back, Dean. We just have to figure out where to start."

;

"Oh, I know where to start." He muttered.

"What? Where?"

"With a certain little blond-haired bitch. She's gonna tell me where they're holding him or else."

"What are you talking about?"

"This kid. She goes to school with Sam. She was sweet on him. The demons possessed her so they could get close to him. She'll know where Sam is."

John glanced over at his son, hope filling his features. "You sure about this? Cause that's a hell of a lead, son."

Dean nodded. "I'm sure. And when I get hold of her, she's gonna pay for all the shit she's put him through."

"Hold up there. If this is a just a kid, possessed, we have to be careful, Dean."

"Why?"

John glared at his son. "Because we don't kill humans. Or have you forgotten that bit of information? If we find this girl, we question her, exorcise her and send her back to her family."

"And if she doesn't tell us what we need to know?"

John sighed, "We're not torturing some teenager, Dean. Not gonna happen."

Dean hesitated, then spoke his mind. "This girl .. and I use that term loosely. She spread shit all over school about Sam. Got him damn near molested in the locker room. Got him ostracized and humiliated. She got him stabbed in the fucking arm with his own knife. She's got whole lot of shit to answer for, you ask me."

John glanced over, "What do you mean, she almost got him molested and stabbed? What the hell's been going on here Dean? Why is this the first time I'm hearing all this?"

Dean looked away, "The demons. They played with Sam's emotions, turned people against him so he'd …"

"He'd what?"

"He'd want … to kill himself."

"Are you saying Sam tried to commit suicide?"

Dean just nodded, a tear rolling down his cheek.

John was silent for a moment, considering this new development. "And where were you during all this?"

Dean's head snapped around. "I was right there where I've always been, Dad! Picking up the damned pieces! Where the hell were you?"

John was silent. Then he sighed. "It's not an excuse, I know. But I've been tied to a damned chair for a fucking week. Those sons a bitches." He added quietly.

Dean was suddenly ashamed, 'Look, Dad …" He tried to apologize, but John stopped him.

"Never mind, Dean. The important thing now is to find Sam. That's all that matters. Find him and bring him home. We'll work out the rest when the time comes. One catastrophe at a time is about my limit. Although," he added, "making Sam kill himself makes no sense at all."

"Why not? They're heartless bastards."

"But he can't lead them if he's dead. Think about it."

"But they said …"

"Demons lie, Dean. They lie all the time. It makes more sense to think that they pushed him in that direction to make him weak and maybe suggestible. Something else must have happened to push him over the edge like that. Something they hadn't planned. And then they used that as a stepping off point to lie to you about their real intentions. Suicide couldn't have been their endgame. It had to be something else - something big - to make him feel that desolate."


	25. Facing Demons

Dean couldn't bring himself to mention exactly what it was that had pushed Sam over the edge.

He knew though.

Dammit, he knew.

As bad as things had gotten at school, Dean knew none of it compared to the betrayal doled out by one big brother at home. Dean sat there quietly in the Impala, in Sammy's spot, and replayed the events of the last few days over and over - the look on Sam's face when he'd shoved him up against the bridge support and the quiet way he'd begged Dean not to humiliate him in front of his friends. He felt Sam's soothing hands carefully tending his wound - wincing when Dean winced - and going out of his way to be as gentle as possible.

And Dean couldn't even bring himself to think about … about that night - the night he'd beat Sam senseless with his own cruel hands.

How that must have felt to Sammy - to be hurt over and over again by the one person who'd looked after him all his life.

Dean's eyes filled with tears. This was his fault, all of it. Nothing Sam had done warranted how badly Dean had hurt him.

And now Sam was gone, taken by demons. He'd willingly gone to what he'd thought was his death to keep Dean and John safe, and it just wasn't fair.

Sam was only a kid. He didn't deserve any of this. He deserved nights spent at the arcade with strings of pizza dripping off his chin and his eyes wide with excitement. He deserved a date with a cute girl that didn't end in humiliation and fear. He deserved Hurricane Blitzes and new clothes that nobody else had ever worn before and a fucking razor that worked.

But Sam never got those things. He got the pot of black coffee instead of the triple-cheese pasta, and the irate dad over the supportive girlfriend's father. He got a stab in the arm for trying to make a new friend, and he got tossed roughly into the freezing trunk of the car when he tried to protect his brother …

his brother who'd hurt him unforgivably.

Dean's sob was out before he could choke it off, and he turned his head toward the window so Dad wouldn't see the tear sliding down his face.

"We're gonna get him back, son. We will." John offered, awkwardly as they pulled up in front of the pizza place.

Dean swiped at his face and steeled his resolve as he stared through the window at the blond girl with curls who sat calmly in a front booth, talking with the boy from the bridge - the one who'd stabbed him and Sam. And as Dean and his dad sat watching, both demons turned and grinned at them, black eyes blazing.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled, springing from the car, his father close behind.

The demons actually slid over to make room for them as the two hunters shoved their way into the booth.

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, so ready to drag them both back to some abandoned warehouse and make them beg for death.

Mira just smiled. "Aww, jig must be up? Now you know I'm not really sweet on your brother, Dean. Sure did enjoy emasculating him though." She winked. "His feelings get hurt so … satisfyingly. It was almost too easy really."

Dean glared.

"Was he sad when you got him home that night, Dean? Did he cry? Did you kiss it and make it all better?"

"You are so gonna die, you ugly blond bitch."

She giggled. "Wow! Think I hit a nerve there, Daddy?" She addressed John.

"I think you're time here is … limited." John said calmly. "I WILL exorcise you. If you tell us where they're holding Sam, I'll let you go. If not - you die. Choice is yours."

Her smug smile faded a bit. "You can't kill me." She gloated.

"I wouldn't count on it." John said, placing a knife on the table. It was one Dean had never seen before - silver, with inscriptions that looked ancient.

Mira paled considerably. "Where did you get that?" She snarled.

John shrugged. "Doesn't matter. What matters is what comes out of your mouth next."

"Oh, right. Like you're going to kill a sixteen-year-old cheerleader, John. Even you aren't that twisted."

John looked her square in the eye. "I'll do what I have to do to protect my son. I may not like it, but if you're not willing to be helpful then there's no reason to keep you around. I'm sure as hell not letting you waltz away."


	26. When the Kid Gloves Come Off

Sam was pretty sure he was slowly going insane. After a solid week of no contact, no communication, and with even the demons refusing to talk to him or look at him or acknowledge him in any way, Sam had gone on a hunger strike. Another three days of eating and drinking nothing, and he'd passed out on the floor and awoken to find a pissed off demon lingering near the nightstand. He'd asked Sam then if he planned to eat or drink any of his meal, and Sam had defiantly said no.

It was almost the last time Sam said no to one of his captors.

The kid-glove treatment had ended that day. The comfortable bedroom instantly transformed into a damp cellar. The demon pushed Sam backward and chained him to a dank wall by one cuff, and the next time he refused to drink the juice that the demon brought him, the torture started.

"You gonna drink this?"

Sam glared defiantly back, remaining silent but refusing to drink.

Slap! The open-handed blow rocked the boy's head back and split his lip wide open.

"How about now?"

Silence.

The punch in the gut came swiftly, and most of Sam's air left him in a single pained 'whoosh.' He tried to curl up in a fetal position, but the guy was back in Sam's face, holding the fucking juice.

"Thirsty yet?"

Sam spit out a mouthful of blood, "Bite me."

And the hellhound materialized from nowhere. Sam couldn't see it, but he could hear it, and he could feel its foul breath on his face.

The demon chuckled. "Whatever you say, you stubborn little bastard." and he made a gesture.

The hellhound took a small chunk of Sam's shoulder then, and the pain and the noise it made, chewing, caused Sam to retch violently. The pain and the fear and revulsion suddenly became too much, and the boy reached for the juice, downing it all in one chug. He set the small glass off to the side and scuttled back against the wet, rock wall, curling in on himself as much as possible.

"I'll be right back with breakfast. You hungry?" The demon smirked.

Sam nodded painfully, his hand clasped over his injured shoulder and blood streaming down between his fingers and along his arm like small rivers. And when the pancakes and bacon and eggs arrived, they brought with them memories of Dean so sharp that the word 'painful' couldn't describe them.

Sam ate them anyway.

###

Breaking the two demons took longer than they thought. Two entire weeks, to Dean's disgust. John still refused to torture the girl, but he wasn't so shy with the man who had stabbed both of his sons.

In the end, it was Ralph who broke and spilled the address of the location where they were keeping Sam. John was quick to exorcise both demons then, placing their human meat suits gently on the floor of the old factory building and calling 911.

In the next instant, he and Dean were on the road, rocketing toward the last known location of their youngest.

"You think we can trust what he told us?" Dean questioned, pushing the old Impala mercilessly along the old backroad that led to the defunct manufacturing plant.

"We'll know shortly," John answered distractedly, fiddling with his phone.

"What?" Dean asked shortly, glancing at the phone and then up at his father.

"Calling for reinforcements."

"Dad, we can't afford to wait for people to show? Those fuckers have had Sam for two damn weeks already!"

"I told you, they won't kill him, Dean."

Dean set his jaw. "Call who you want. I'm not waiting."

"Calm down, son. I have people ready and waiting. We won't have to wait for anyone."

And they didn't. When the Impala chugged up to the meeting place a quarter-mile from their destination, six other hunters whom Dean had never seen before were already there waiting, and they all carried knives identical to the ones Dean and his father wielded.

The determined group advanced in complete silence, focused on only two things - rescue young Sam Winchester and don't die doing it.


	27. Saving Sammy

The group split up into pairs as they approached the foreboding building, and Dean had the depressing thought that they'd never find Sammy in a place this massive.

"Shake it off, Dean." John whispered, reading his thoughts. "I know exactly where to look."

Dean just nodded. He trusted his father. It was the source of the intel that worried him.

But John led them directly to a side door that was guarded by two figures. It was quick work to take the pair out, and Dean wondered briefly again where Dad had found knives that killed demons, but he filed his questions away for later. Only one thing mattered now - getting to Sam and getting him the hell away from this place.

They stepped silently through the door.

In front of them was a cargo container like the kind used for overseas shipments. It was the size of a small trailer, windowless, and sadly, doorless too.

But John wasted no time.

He dropped to his knees at the end of the container and chalked out a quick symbol, placing a bowl in the middle. And once Dean realized what his dad was doing, he moved forward to help. His father shoved a piece of paper into Dean's hand as he dropped various herbs and other odd ingredients into the bowl.

"When I say so, you read this. Okay?"

Dean nodded, holding his small maglite on the short verse.

"Now!"

Dean began reciting the incantation without hesitation as John dropped a small burning candle into the bowl.

There was a brief flare as the items in the bowl were consumed by the flame. And as Dean repeated the verse over and over, the walls of the container unit began to flicker and fade. Dean struggled to keep reciting as he took his eyes off the page and stared as the clunky metal container simply disappeared slowly right before his eyes.

And then there was Sam.

He was skinnier than he'd been two weeks ago, and half beat to hell, but he was conscious and breathing. Dean plunged toward his brother and gathered him up in his arms without thinking. But the movement caused his brother to cry out in pain, even as he stared up at Dean in relief.

"Easy Dean." Dad was beside them. ""Check his injuries before you move him." He scolded kindly, gently running skilled hands over Sam's neck and limbs and ribs.

But Dean was oblivious to everything except the fact that he held his little brother in his arms once again.

"Sammy?" His voice broke as he stared into the younger boy's eyes. "I got you, Sammy. You're safe now." He hugged him gently."You okay, little bro?"

Sam stared up at Dean like he wasn't real, and then suddenly the words came swift and furious, flowing from Sam like vomit. His voice was gritty and hoarse like he hadn't used in months, but he grabbed onto Dean like a drowning man and just began babbling.

"Dean! Dad!" He cried, "You're here you're really here I was hoping and hoping and trying so hard to send you mental messages to let you know I was still alive they said they'd kill me and I thought you'd think I was dead and maybe wouldn't look anymore but I never gave up hope I never did Dean I swear and I missed you so much and they came everyday and if I didn't eat the food and drink the juice then they tortured me but I knew you would come Dean I knew you would and I didn't give up I didn't give up Dad they told to forget about you that they were my family now but I just couldn't!"

Dean couldn't help the snort that escaped him then. "Shhh. Sammy." He comforted the boy, exchanging an amused look with John. "It's okay. You're safe. We'd never give up looking for you, bro.I gotta have my pain-in-the-ass little brother, you know."

"They wouldn't look at me or talk to me or even act like I was in the room unless they were hitting me or siccing the hell hounds on me I tried to eat everything they brought me but sometimes I just got so lonely it made me feel sick and I couldn't eat Dean I couldn't eat but they'd get mad then and then they'd do something awful and I'd have to eat it anyway even if I threw up after."

Sam began sobbing in Dean's arms as the older boy rocked him gently. Most of that had gotten through to Dean, but the part about hell hounds and about Sam being forced to eat until he threw up made Dean's vision go dark. He was pretty sure he felt his blood boiling as Sam babbled on about the horrors he'd faced during the two weeks he'd been in captivity.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean hugged his brother close. "Dad and I are here now and we're taking you home. You hear me? You're safe now, little bro."

John took a quick look around, "Time to go, Dean." he warned. You want me to take him?"

But Dean just shook his head and gathered his little brother up like he weighed nothing. He lifted the boy with an arm under his knees and another behind his back, and rose to his feet, following his father out the door.

But Sam was still babbling softly.

"Shh. Sammy." Dean cautioned gently in his ear. "You gotta be quiet right now, okay? When we get to the car, you can tell me everything, but right now, you gotta zip it, please?"

Sam nodded and pressed his fist to his mouth as though he could only shut off the litany by physical force. He snuggled deeper into Dean's jacket, forgetting that he was 16 instead of six.

And secretly, Dean reveled in the closeness. He'd been so sure that Sam was going to die that he'd steeled himself against having a happy ending like this. He was secretly glad that his little brother was being so clingy because Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to let the younger boy go right now even if he tried.

As they headed silently back across the lot, they were joined by the other hunters. Several were covered in blood splatter, and Dean realized then that they'd taken out a whole nest. He felt a sudden overwhelming gratitude for these men who'd risked their lives to rescue a 16-year-old kid none of them had ever met before.

Because Sammy was so worth it.

When they reached the vehicles, Dean wasted no time in sliding Sam into the middle of the front seat and climbing in behind him. Sam slid right over against him and wrapped his skinny arms around Dean's middle like he was holding on for life.

Dean just held him back equally tightly, whispering soft words of encouragement to let him know he was safe while Dad stood outside the car, shaking hands with the hunting party.

Sam was whispering now, but the words didn't come any less desperately. "Dean how did you know to keep looking they said they were gonna kill me I thought they were gonna kill me how did you know they didn't and how did you know where to look for me and how did you make the cellar go away the cellar was awful Dean it was wet and it smelled like an old moldy shower and there was a ring on the wall and that's where they'd shackle me whenever they were gonna hit me some more how did you know?"

"Sammy …" Dean choked up at the boy's words, suddenly wishing the demons who'd tortured his brother hadn't died quite so easily. "Sammy … I … Dad. Dad found out where they were keeping you. He did a spell and it opened up the room … er … the cellar, I guess. Hey Sammy?"

"Mmmhm?"

"What kinds of injuries … I mean … what did they do to you? Can you tell me?"

Dean felt Sam nod against his chest. "They had me in a bedroom at first it was nice but then I stopped eating and it made them mad I guess so then the room changed into a cellar and he chained me to the wall and slapped me in the face and then he punched me in my stomach and then I said bite me and so he got a hell hound and it took a chunk out of my shoulder other times when I was too sick to eat he'd hold me tight against the wall and force my mouth open and just shove the food in it made me sicker and I always threw up after he did that every time."

Sam spoke so fast, and the words rolled out of him so explosively that Dean couldn't process them all. So he focused instead on the words that stood out, phrases like "held me tight against the wall" and words like "forced" and "sick" and "slapped" and "punched."

Dean felt sick to his stomach.


	28. Wounds

"It's okay, Sammy. It's all gonna be fine." Dean intoned as he carried his brother into the motel. John had gone for more medical supplies, but at least he had sprung for someplace that had heat and plenty of hot water, and Dean was grateful. He wanted nothing more than to get Sam cleaned up, stitched up, and tucked comfortably away between the covers where Dean could keep him safe forever.

Somewhere between Sam's supernatural prison and the motel, the words had stopped gushing. Pain and fatigue were setting in now, Dean could tell. And most of what Sam expelled now was choked whimpers from the many injuries those black-eyed bastards had dealt him. He sat his little brother gently down on the most comfortable-looking bed and sighed. This next part, he hated.

Sam tried to sink down immediately, but Dean was adamant. "Uh-unh little bro. We gotta get you cleaned up and tend to your wounds first. Where did that hell hound get you?"

Sam shuddered at the memory. "My shoulder." He said softly, looking down at his torn t-shirt.

Dean saw it then, the ragged edges of torn cotton edged in blood. "Shit." He mourned. "We gotta get that shirt off, Sammy. This might hurt a bit." He leaned in and carefully worked Sam's good arm out of the shirt and pulled the tee gently up and over Sam's head. But when it came time to slide the filthy garment off the boy's hurt shoulder, the thing was stuck fast, glued on with his baby brother's blood.

Dean risked a glance into Sam's pained eyes, and then, feeling like a real dick, he yanked the garment down in one, rough gesture.

Sam hissed and jerked away, silent tears leaking down his cheeks.

"Dean!"

"Shit, Sammy. I'm so sorry." Dean pressed his forehead to Sam's. "It was the fastest way to get the filthy thing off you, and this has to be taken care of quick. It's already infected." Dean inspected the bite. The bastard had actually taken a chunk of flesh with it, and Dean knew this was going to take some masterful stitching.

And still, Sam was going to have one hell of a scar to show for it.

"It - it's okay," Sam whispered. "Damn, it hurts though."

"I know it does, little bro. I know. You're being awfully brave. I couldn't do the same under these circumstances." Dean added, examining the bare skin that was now revealed.

He swore. "Dammit Sammy. They really used you for a punching bag, hunh?" He felt for loose ribs.

"I-I guess so."

Dean smiled, "Well, it looks like your shoulder took the worst of it. Well, and maybe your poor face." Dean tilted his brother's chin to take in all the bruising and swelling. Sam had two black eyes and a lip that had been split multiple times. That was going to need stitches, Dean knew. And the gash on Sam's forehead might need a few too.

"So how'd you get the gash up here?"

"Hit me with the plate when I threw up all over him." Sam grinned. "It was totally worth it."

Dean snorted. "Damn straight it was. That's my boy. Can you lean forward for me? I need to see your back."

But Sam's eyes grew wide, and he balked at that. "N -no, Dean. It's okay. My back is fine. Really."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "I gotta see Sam. We can't take a chance that we missed something. You could get good and infected. Now lean up."

Sam sat stiff and unmoving, his eyes not meeting Dean's. "No, Dean. I said I'm okay. Just let me go get a shower, please?"

Dean studied his brother. Something was up. "What aren't you telling me, Sam?" he asked gently. "What's back there that you don't want me to see?"

Sam sniffed, and his voice broke. "Nothing, I swear! Please, just let me go get cleaned up!"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Sorry Sammy. Can't do it." And with that, Dean tugged his brother forward far enough to see his back. His breath caught and his vision went dark.

"Son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill those bastards! I'll fucking end them all!"

"Dean. please …" Sam whimpered.

"What did they use, Sam? A fucking branding iron?" Right in the middle of his younger brother's back, right between his shoulder blades where he'd feel it every time he moved, was a massive, ugly burn. It was shaped like a crude devil's trap, but Dean was certain that the x stamped over it had been done separately. The whole burn was the size of a dinner plate and must have hurt like a bitch. The edges of it on each side overlapped Sam's shoulder blades, and Dean knew that someone must have held him in position with his arms pulled forward to burn all the edges evenly into his delicate skin like that.

The sore was angry and red and infected something fierce, and Dean wasn't sure that this injury wouldn't be the one that landed Sam in the hospital.

And how in the hell did you explain that shit? CPS would be called in for sure on this one. Dean was pretty sure that a huge, infected burn placed on a minor's back was probably a bit of a tip off.

No, a hospital was out of the question. But dammit. that had to hurt something awful. Tears trailed down Dean's face at the thought of the torment his little brother had faced during his captivity. He swallowed hard and pulled Sam gently close, careful not to touch his back.

"They say why?" He asked, swallowing back the sting of tears.

Sam nodded, "Payback for the holy water in the garden hose."

Dean wanted to die. He just wanted to die. Sam had done that garden hose trick to save Dean's hide. And now here Dean was all safe and sound, and there was Sammy, burnt and beaten to hell and gone.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy."

"Not your fault, Dean. But please, can I go get a shower now?"

"Sam, hot water is gonna hurt like a bitch on that." Dean said, not sure how his brother was going to manage. It had to be cleaned up with soap and water and antibiotic cream, but it sure wasn't going to be any fun. "Here, let's get some painkillers in you first, at least." Dean dug out the good stuff and handed two tablets to his brother, bringing him a glass of water. He waited til Sam took the meds then tugged his brother to his feet and helped steady him, leading him to the small bathroom. He led him carefully to the shower and got the water started running, then he closed the bathroom door behind them and began helping his little brother out of the soiled clothes he'd lived in for weeks and into a warm shower that would wash the worst of the filth and humiliation away.

At least, if they were lucky.

But then again, when were they ever lucky?


	29. A Dangerous Degree of Burn

"How is he?" John asked as he came through the door, loaded down with medical supplies.

Dean shook his head. "He needs a hospital, Dad."

John looked grim. "That bad?"

"They … they burned him. His back … it's …"

"Bastards!" John moved to stand over the bed where his youngest son lay asleep on his stomach. He stared down at the boy's bare back. Dean had gently cleaned the wound, but he had nothing to put on it. Sam needed burn ointment and maybe even a skin graft."

"Son of a bitch!" John uttered, sinking down beside the boy. "Sammy, I'm so sorry, son." he whispered. He turned to Dean, "He can't go into a hospital like this."

"I know, but he's hurting bad. And his shoulder and his back - they're both infected."

John stood up and dug his phone out of his pocket. "Bobby knows some people. Let me see if there's someone close who can help us. Be right back." He took the phone outside.

Dean turned off the bright, overhead light and left the bathroom light burning with the door half-closed. Then he eased himself gently into a sitting position onto the bed beside the little brother that he'd been so afraid of losing. Sam sensed his presence and snuggled closer, tossing an arm across the older boy's legs and burrowing into his hip. "Dean?" he mumbled.

"Right here, Sammy. I'm right here, little brother."

"Stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere. You feeling okay?" He brushed a gentle hand through damp, tousled hair.

"Yeah. Feel good." Sam smiled without opening his eyes.

"You're not hurting at all?"

"Nope. Feel good." He repeated, drifting off again.

"Good, Sammy. That's real good." Dean said. "We're gonna get you some help. Just hang in there for me, you hear?"

"Mmm." Sam mumbled, too tired to speak.

By the time John returned, Dean had dozed off sitting up. The older man jostled him gently awake. "I have someone coming to take a look at him in the morning, Dean. I'll keep watch. You go get some sleep, okay?"

But Dean shook his head. He'd been apart from Sam too much in the last two weeks. He needed to feel the younger boy beside him, to know he was finally safe. "I'm good, Dad. You take the other bed. I wanna stay here."

John smiled down at his boys, attached, almost literally, at the hip like always. They had each other, and as long as they had each other, they'd be okay.

John kicked his boots off quietly and settled down on the other bed, waiting for morning to come and for help to arrive.

###

The knock startled them all awake, and John was instantly on his feet, gun in hand, as he approached the door and peeped through the hole.

"It's the doc." John said, causing Dean to relax from Sam's bed where he sat at attention.

John opened the door and ushered the man inside. "Bart. It's good to see you." The older men shook hands. "Thanks for coming out to help us."

Bart smiled, "Think nothing of it, John. I got a boy Sam's age myself, as you know. I'll never forget what you and Bobby did for him those years back. I'm happy to finally have a chance to repay the favor. He nodded to Dean and approached Sam's side of the bed, catching his breath as his eyes took in the cruel burn that had been seared into the boy's back.

"Damn demons," He cursed. "Foul. Just foul." He eased himself carefully down onto the bed beside Sam. "You awake, son?"

Sam nodded. He was in the same position from the night before - one arm over Dean's legs, his face buried in his hip. "Yes."

"You're hurting pretty good, I guess?" Bart moved to wash and disinfect his hands. Then he pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. "I'm sorry buddy, but I need to take a closer look at this burn on your back, okay? It's not gonna be pleasant."

Sam nodded, his grip on Dean tightening. Dean felt his brother's fear and grasped his hand firmly. "You just squeeze my hand as hard as you have to, Sammy okay? I'm right here."

Bart took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Okay, Sam. Here goes. Try to stay still for me, Okay?" He pushed gently at the puffed edges that surrounded the reddest part of Sam's burn and frowned when a yellowish discharge seeped out.

Sam whimpered and bit his lip. He hissed in pain as the doctor continued his exam. "Dean?" He whined, "It hurts!"

Dean leaned down and brushed a comforting hand through his brother's hair, "Shhh, Sammy. I got you. It'll be over in a minute, okay? Just squeeze my hand."

"It's okay, Dean. I'm done. You did real good, Sam." He stood up. "Can I talk to you both outside?"

Dean and John exchanged looks. This couldn't be good. "Sure," John said, heading for the door.

Dean leaned down, "Sammy, I gotta go talk to the doc, okay? I'll be right back."

"'Kay, Dean." Sam mumbled, loosening his grasp on his brother's legs. Dean slid gently out from under and joined his father and Bart outside the motel room.

"So here's the thing," Bart explained, once they were both present. "Sam's burns are third-degree and they're infected. He needs oxygen and fluids and the skin will need to be debrided. John, I can't do any of that here. And a grimy motel room is just asking for trouble. Sam needs a sterile environment."

John nodded. "I hear you, Bart, I do. But I can't risk taking Sammy to a hospital like this. We'll lose him to CPS."

Bart nodded. "I can take him to my private clinic. I can have a transport here in less than an hour, but you've got to let me take him John. He could very well die from this kind of wound."

John exchanged a glance with this oldest. "What if a member of your staff reports his injuries?"

Bart shook his head. "I only have three, John. And they're loyal. If I say this stays out of the reports, it stays out. You can trust me on this. But we need to move now."

"Dad?" Dean whined. "We can't … can't let him just die."

"Of course not, son." He said. Then he turned to Bart. "Fine, call your transport. We'll get Sam ready."

Bart nodded, already digging out his phone, but Dean stopped him. "He can have pain meds first, right?"

Bart nodded. "Of course, Dean. Make him as comfortable as possible, but don't touch the burns, okay? Help will be here shortly."


	30. A Bad Day

Sammy was hooked up to so many machines he looked like something out of one of those sci-fi movies they used to watch on late-night television, Dean thought, as he sat dejectedly by his brother's bedside.

Sam lay on his stomach, his back exposed and glistening. They'd covered him in some sort of ointment that was supposed to help stave off infection while killing pain. The younger Winchester was sleeping peacefully now, a cannula in his nose and an IV full of fluids leading into his arm.

And while Dean was terrified for his brother, he couldn't help but feel grateful to Bart and the amazing clinic he had set up in a back wing of his home. It was clean. It was comfortable, and best of all, the people who worked for Bart were kind and caring toward Sam. They'd shown him nothing but affection and had gone out of their way to avoid causing him more pain. Dean just hoped it was enough.

"He really needs a burn center, John." Bart was saying. "But with that out of the question, we'll do what we can for him here."

"What could they do that you can't do here?" John was asking.

Bart sighed, "Well, the part that worries me most is the debridement." His eyes met John's. "Do you have any experience with burn treatment?"

The oldest Winchester shook his head.

"Well, Sam is a perfect candidate for surgical debridement. It's relatively painless, effective, and it's really what's required in a case like Sam's where speed is of the essence."

John nodded, "Fine. You have my permission."

But Bart shook his head. "But I'm not a surgeon. Neither is anyone on my staff. We run a small operation here. There's no way we can safely perform surgical debridement on Sam's burns. Not here. We're just not equipped."

"So what's the alternative?" Dean piped up from Sam's bedside, where he'd been eavesdropping.

Bart looked genuinely sorry. "The best I can do here is wet-to-dry dressings."

"Okay?" John prompted the man.

Bart sighed again, hating what he was about to suggest. "The way that works is that we apply wet saline dressings to Sam's back, allow them to dry and adhere to the burn, then basically peel them off, bringing the dead skin along."

Both Winchesters flinched at the image.

"Exactly. Wet-to-dry dressings are actually pretty barbaric. But they're the best I can offer. Sam's wound is infected. It could lead to sepsis in no time at all, and once sepsis sets in … well …"

"Sam could die." John finished morosely. Bart nodded.

"But Sam will have pain meds, right?" Dean asked, moving to stand beside his father.

Bart nodded. "Of course. We'll give him the strongest we have, but I have to warn you, it's still going to pale in comparison to what's coming. But that skin has to come off. It will not only help lessen his scars, but it will get rid of the infection and save his life, but you need to know what Sam's up against. What you're all up against. I mean this is the kind of pain that can cause post traumatic stress down the road. We'll have to change the dressings every 4 to 6 hours, and I won't lie to you, it's going to be agonizing for Sam. And, depending on how it goes, this could go on for weeks.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick, but it didn't sound like they had much choice. Apparently, his father was thinking along the same lines. "There's no alternative?"

Bart shook his head. "Sadly, no. Not unless you want to move him to a trauma center. And time is of the essence. We need to act now. My nurse has the first round of bandages ready."

John hedged, "Has he had the pain medicine?"

"He's still out from the last dose, but we can up it a little. Any little bit will help."

John locked eyes with Dean and swallowed hard. "Fine, do what you have to do." He nodded.

"I wanna stay with him." Dean piped up.

Bart shook his head, "Trust me, Dean. You don't want to be there when we pull the bandages."

But Dean was adamant. "No way is he going through that alone. I have to be there. Dad?" He pleaded.

John looked undecided. "Is there any risk to Sam if he stays? Any sort of infection risk or anything?"

Bart shook his head again, "No risk. Just to Dean's mental state."

"Then let him stay. He's willing, and it will help Sam."

Bart nodded. "Fine, but I don't think you'll want to stay a second time." He nodded to the nurse who stood behind him. "Go ahead and get started.

Dean followed nervously behind as the nurse entered the room. He stood well out of the way as she set up her sterile workstation. The second nurse cleaned the ointment off Sam's back gently, and then they worked together to place wet gauze over his burns. When they were done, they placed dry bandages over the wet ones and taped them into place. It seemed like a simple process, and Sam slept through the whole thing. But Dean knew the tough part was coming in four hours.

When they were gone, Dean moved his chair back over to Sam's bed and sat waiting for his brother to wake up.

Three hours later, he got his wish.

"Dean?"

Dean started awake. He couldn't believe he'd dozed off like that. He glanced at his watch to see what time it was and realized that Sam still had an hour til the first round of bandages came off.

"Heya Sammy." He smiled, pulling his chair closer. "How ya feeling?"

Sam smiled sleepily. "Feel okay. Kinda wanna change position though. Can I roll over onto my side?"

Dean was up in a heartbeat. "No, you gotta stay put, Sam. They've got your back all bandaged up."

"Oh. Well, have they said when I can get out of here?"

Dean thought about Bart's mention of the weeks of treatment that waited for Sam, and he suddenly didn't know what to say. He sat back down so he was at eye-level with his brother and set about trying to explain what was about to happen. "Listen, Sammy. We, uh, we gotta talk."

Sam nodded, "Okay." And damned if he didn't smile reassuringly in his brother's direction.

Dean saw, and suddenly he knew that Sam had an idea of what was coming. He knew, and he was trying to comfort Dean. The older boy's eyes welled with tears.

"Sammy, uh, your burn, it's … it's pretty infected. It's infected, and they had to get the dead skin off so it can heal. Otherwise you're going to get real sick."

Sam nodded. "I know."

Dean studied him, "How much do you know, Sam? I mean, about burn treatment?"

Sam smiled at Dean gently, "That they have to debride the skin, right?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, "They do, Sam, and … uh … it's probably going to hurt a bit."

Sam sighed. "I know."

"Sam …"

'It'll be okay, Dean. I was sort of thinking about that the whole time I was in the cellar. Remember that kid, Lucas? He lived next door to us a while back in Lexington."

Dean nodded, "Just barely, I think. He got burned by a space heater, right?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't stop asking about him, so Dad took me the hospital to see him, and when we got there, they were debriding him and …" Sam trailed off.

"And what?"

Sam's voice shook a bit. "And they had taken him down the hall to the whirlpool while we waited in his room, and we … we could hear him screaming even from that far away."

Dean's eyes closed, and a single tear escaped, "Sammy …"

"Promise me that you and Dad will leave for a bit while they do it, okay?"

Dean's eyes flew open. "No way!"

"Please Dean? And not just my room. Promise me you'll drive to a diner or something. I - I don't want anyone …"

"Sammy, no. I'm not leaving you to go through that alone. No way."

"Please Dean? Promise me? I - I'll do my best to be strong, but I'm not feeling very strong right now, and I don't want … you or especially Dad … you know, to hear me."

Dean shook his head, unable to speak.

"Please, Dean. If I can't control it and Dad hears, I'll just die. Dean. It will be too much. Please do this for me?"

Dean was about to deny his brother again when the door opened, and a nurse entered. "Well, I see our patient is awake!" She said cheerily. "This is perfect timing, Sam. I have your pain medication." She addressed both boys as she administered the drug. "This is morphine." She winked at Dean. "It's the good stuff. Strongest we have in the house. As soon as this kicks in, Sam, you'll be feeling all warm and fuzzy."

"Warm and fuzzy sounds great." Sam tried to joke.

"Well, trust me, you'll be happy to have it, Sam. Now has anyone been in to talk you about the next procedure?"

"No." Dean answered for his brother.

She nodded. "Okay." She looked at her watch. "Well, we have about half an hour, so I'll go see if I can find Dr. Bart and send him in, okay, Sam? You with me?"

"S..r." Sam slurred.

The nurse looked at Dean in amusement. "I think that was a 'sure'." She smiled and exited the room.

Dean caught Sam's eyes again, "You okay there, little brother?"

"Dea … n."

Dean snorted. "What, goofy?"

"Leave … please."

"Sorry, Sammy. Can't do it."

Sam huffed.

"Even drugged to the sky, he stills makes the bitch face." Dean commented as the doctor entered.

"I hear our patient's awake?" He breezed into the room, all smiles and false bravado. He bent down to look at Sam's face, "Well, somewhat. Sam? You with me?"

"Uhhh …"

"I see the morphine is doing it's job. That's good. Real good." He addressed Dean. "Sam, we're gonna debride you now. That's where we remove the dead skin so your burn can heal better, okay?"

"De … an."

"Right here, Sammy."

"Go …"

"Not going anywhere, Sam."

Bart glanced at Dean as the nurses entered with the sterile packs again. "You're sure you wanna stay for this, Dean?" He gave the boy one last chance to back out. "We'll take good care of Sam. I promise."

Dean just nodded.

Bart turned back to Sam. "Sam, we're gonna take the bandages off now. This might sting a little, okay? But the morphine will help."

Sam's eyes were closed, and he looked to be asleep, and for a moment, Dean thought they were going to get off easy. But when Bart began gently tugging the dried bandages from the burned areas of Sam's back, the boy's eyes shot open, and he gasped.

"I'm right here, Sammy." Dean comforted him. "I'm here, little bro, and I'm not going anywhere."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and began trying to do the breathing exercises that Dad had taught them to breathe through pain.

"That's it, Sammy. Breathe through it. Good job. You're doing great."

But then he whimpered and started shaking, and Dean realized he was crying silently. And suddenly, Dean's own face was wet. "It's okay, Sammy. You go ahead and cry if you have to. It'll be over soon. I promise."

They stayed like that until Bart had removed half the bandages, but when the doctor leaned in and told Sam they were halfway done, Sam let out a wail that startled everyone in the room.

"Dean! Make them stop! Please!" He begged. "Please, make it stop! I can't … ! Please, I … I can't!"

Dean gazed up at Bart, "Can you stop? Save the rest for later?" He begged.

Bart shook his head. "The only way out is through, Dean. I'm sorry."

Sam reached out for him then, his arm stretched straight out toward Dean. But when Dean moved to take it, Bart snapped, "Don't touch him!"

Dean yanked his hand back and barked up at the older man, "Why not?"

"Infection. You can't touch him, not when his wounds are exposed like this. Once he's bandaged back up, it's fine. But not during the procedure."

So Dean paced, just feet from Sam's bed, and watched his agony, Sam's hand outstretched for him, and him unable to take it.

It was a bad day.


	31. The Brightening of the Dawn

Three more days - Sam underwent three more days of wet-to-dry dressings. And each time, Dean planted himself by his brother's bedside and stayed with him throughout the whole ordeal.

After that first time, Dean suited up and wore sterile gloves and a sterile gown that allowed him to lean in close and hold his brother's hand through the worst of it. He would whisper quietly to Sam, telling him funny stories about when he was little and asking him if he remembered that time that Dad had slipped on ice getting into the Impala and had torn the ass out of his pants or that time when Dad and Bobby had gotten into it and Bobby had chased Dad down his driveway wearing nothing but his boxers and a bad disposition.

He made Sam laugh while he cried.

They were just little techniques to help take Sam's mind off of what was happening to him, but they didn't help much. The pain was still overwhelming to the younger boy, and he was always still begging for relief before the procedure was done, but at least it was something. It was all Dean could think of to do that could possibly help Sam during his treatments.

When it was over, Sam was always in bad shape, though he tried to play strong. But three days of treatment meant eighteen dressing changes, and eventually, Sam fell into a depression brought on by his chronic pain. Dean could see the change taking place and it terrified him. They were late into the third day as Dean sat in the chair beside Sam and tried to cheer him up.

"Hey Sammy. How you holdin' up, little bro?"

Sam tried to smile for him, tried to play strong. "I'm fine." He said softly, trying to forget that they were coming for him again in an hour.

"Hey, the first thing we're gonna do when they spring you is find some of that three-cheese pasta you've been wanting to try. What do you think of that?"

"Sounds good, Dean." Sam said tiredly, without emotion. He vaguely remembered that pasta, but if felt like a hundred years ago. He closed his eyes.

"Good, Sammy. Get some rest, okay? I'll be right here."

"'kay." Sam slurred.

And when Sam drifted off, Dean did too. And both boys were sound asleep when Bart entered the room an hour later.

Sam was instantly awake. And at the sound of his first whimper, Dean was too.

"Sammy?" Dean blinked, sitting up in his chair and trying to focus his sleep-deprived eyes. "Whaswrong?"

Sam's voice broke. "They're back. It … it's time again."

"Oh. Okay." Dean smiled at him, heart sinking. "Let me go get suited up. Be right back." He tried to raise out of his chair, but Bart's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Stay put, Dean. No need to get suited up." He stepped up and pulled out a chair, placing it beside Dean so he could look Sam in eye. "I have good news." He smiled.

Sam eyed him warily, "Yeah?"

"That's right. No more dressings."

Sam's eyes widened as he gasped, "What?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears, "Wait! I thought you said he'd need weeks?"

Bart shook his head. "I thought he would, but Sam's young and in great condition and his body's bouncing back much more quickly than I thought it would."

"What about the ones on my back?" Sam asked, looking suddenly bereft.

"No worries, Sam. I have a nurse coming in shortly. She'll wet them down again, and they'll slip right off - no more pain, son."

Sam's eyes locked with Dean's and both boys suddenly grinned.

"Thank God!" Dean exclaimed.

"So, what next?" Sam asked.

"Well Sam. I figured we'd get those bandages changed for you, get your back nicely wrapped up and get that catheter out. Then maybe your brother here will take you for a stroll down the hall. We have some lovely beige walls out there that you've yet to see." He grinned.

"Well, hell yeah!" Dean grinned back.

"You mean I can get out of bed?"

Bart nodded, "The sooner the better, I'd say, right?"

Sam grinned, "Right!"

###

"So," Sam asked later, as they moved slowly up and down the hallway outside his room, 'Uh, have you seen Dad?"

Dean sighed, "Dad's … around, Sammy." He reassured the boy. "It's just … it's hard for him to … you know … be here."

Sam nodded. "But you're here."

Dean grinned, "Hell yeah. Just try keeping me away, little bro."

Sam was suddenly quiet, and Dean looked over to see him fighting tears. "Hey, what's wrong? Too much? You hurtin' Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not hurting."

Dean stopped their slow progress up the hallway, and turned his brother to face him. "Come on, give. What's up?"

Sam was an emotional wreck, "It's just … I …" He swiped at his face awkwardly. "I …"

"What? Tell me?"

"I don't think I … I could have gotten through these last few days, Dean, If you …"

Dean smiled, "Uh oh, we gonna need some Midol after this conversation, princess?" He joked.

Sam snorted, "Shut up, jerk."

Dean grinned, "I got you, bitch. No need for thanks."

Sam sniffed.

"What?"

"I wanna say this, Dean. Please?"

Dean sighed, Sam was going to have his chick moment whether Dean wanted to or not, "Fine, Sammy. Shoot. Get it all off your chest now, and then now more feminine moments for at least a day, deal?"

Sam smiled, and resumed walking, "It's just … I don't know how much more I can take, you know? I mean, the demons, all the crap that happened at school, and then what happened … happened with … with us. And then being taken prisoner, and I thought I was going to die, Dean. I really did. I still don't know why they kept me alive. It's just, and then these treatments … damn. I wouldn't have made it through all this by myself. I mean it. I just couldn't. And Dad's not here."

Dean was actually serious for once, "You know I'd never leave you to go through all this alone, Sammy, right? I mean, you have to know that?"

"I know. That's why I just … I wanted to … you know … say thanks."

"What can I say, Sammy? I'm Batman."

###

"Things are turning around for Sam. It's heartening to see." Bart explained to John and Dean, as they sat at Bart's kitchen table, drinking coffee.

"So what's that mean, exactly?" John asked.

Bart shrugged, "I think he's ready to leave us."

Dean choked, "You mean it? We can take him home?"

"I don't see why not. His back is healing nicely. His shoulder is pretty much healed. All signs of infection are gone. I think he'll be fine as long as he takes it easy. And Dean, you'll need to keep the bandages on his back clean. Change them at least twice a day. Use the antibiotic ointment and keep him on the antibiotics that I'll send along until they're all gone."

John smiled, "That's great news, Bart. Thank you."

"Now, my next concern is whether you have some place quiet for Sam to finish his recovery because the backseat of your old muscle car or a grungy motel room is out of the question?"

John nodded. "I've already spoken to Bobby. He's gonna let the boys hole up there for a few weeks until Sam's back to a hundred percent."

Dean's eyes lit up, "Bobby's? Does Sam know?"

John smiled, "Not yet. Maybe you'd like to tell him?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him." Dean was thoughtful. "When will we leave town?"

John looked to Bart. "I can discharge Sam as early as tomorrow?" the doctor offered.

"Then we'll head out day after that." John answered his son.

Dean sat thinking. He had a few loose ends to clean up in this town before they moved on, and two days would give him just enough time.


	32. Pasta and a Kiss

Dean towel-dried Sam's hair for him over the bathroom sink in the hospital. Showers were going to be out of the question for awhile, so Dean had helped his little brother clean up in the small sink that took up a corner of his private bath.

"There you go, princess." he joked, "All nice and pretty. You look just like your little boy self again." Dean smirked.

"Shut up, jerk." Sam sniped without meaning it. He was secretly glad his brother had been willing to help him get cleaned up. His hair, especially, had been driving him crazy, hanging in limp, oily strings down his face. He'd actually been willing to wait one more day until they discharged him, and they got to whatever motel Dad planned to put them up in. But his brother had suggested the clean up so Sam figured he must be pretty ripe if even Dean had noticed.

"Do I … you know … smell okay?" He asked, reddening a bit.

Dean snorted, "Dude, you smell like freshly mowed grass in the summertime. You smell like a field of wild roses swaying in the wind. You smell so good …"

"Bite me."

Dean laughed, "Come on Samantha. Back to bed, and then I have a little surprise for you here in a bit.

Sam halted his shuffle toward the bed. Dean's little surprises sometimes weren't so little.

"The last time you had a little surprise for me, it was Alisha." Sam answered reproachfully, eyes narrowing.

"Nope," Dean refused to take offense. "This is MUCH better than Alisha, dude. Trust me."

Sam was worried. If Dean thought something was better than a blond cheerleader, he should probably be concerned. "It's not going to, like, explode or anything, is it?" You never could tell with Dean.

"Well, not right away." Dean joked, and laughed as Sam shot him the stink-eye. "Trust me, little bro. You'll love it." He helped Sam position himself back into bed.

"Hey, can you stand to sit back like that?" Dean was suddenly all big brother when Sam set about adjusting his bed to accommodate a sitting position.

"I think so. My back doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did. Either that or I have a higher pain threshold since those treatments."

Dean frowned, instantly flashing back to the agony his brother had gone through with the debridement.

"Well hold up. Here, let me do it. You tell me when you're comfortable." Dean batted Sam's hands away from the buttons and moved to adjust the bed himself. "There. That good?"

Sam leaned cautiously back and then relaxed, sighing in contentment. "That's perfect, Dean. Thanks. Gosh, it feels good to get off my stomach for a change."

Dean smiled, relieved that Sam was finally able to get comfortable. "Okay, so I'm gonna get them back in here and get your pain thingy hooked back up just in case. And then I have to go run a few errands. So sit tight, okay? Dad's right outside."

"Okay," Sam sighed happily, leaning back and letting his eyes drift shut. "I'll just be here … waiting." He snorted.

Dean rolled his eyes, making for the door.

###

Two hours later, Dean was back. He stepped into the room and handed Sam a foil-wrapped tray.

"What's this?" Sam asked, taking the dish and setting it on the rolling tray that held his water cup and television remote. His eyes widened. "It smells fantastic!"

Dean grinned. "It is fantastic. Take a look. I hope you're hungry."

"Starving! It's still an hour til they bring dinner." He carefully removed the foil to reveal a golden pasta dish, swimming in bubbly cheese.

Sam grinned like an idiot. "Is this what I think it is?" He crowed.

Dean nodded, "World-famous, three-cheese pasta at your service, Sammy."

"Dean! This … this is …." Sam was overcome, and dammit if he didn't feel his eyes fill with tears.

Dean was suddenly concerned. He stepped in close. "What's wrong, little bro? You hurting again?"

Sam shook his head and swiped at his eyes. He tried to cover. "You bring a fork too, jerk?"

"Of course I did, you bossy little bitch." He held up a plastic-wrapped assortment that contained a napkin, knife, and fork. "Have at it, man." He grinned, stepping into the bathroom and returning a moment later with Sam's comb.

"I think you forgot something there, Sammy." he said, gently running the comb through his brother's longish locks. "You look a little like Boober from Fraggle Rock. All you need is the hat." He stepped back and admired his handiwork. "Yep, looking good, baby bro." he nodded.

But Sam was too busy tasting his cheesy pasta to make a smart-assed reply. "This is so good, Dean. You want half?" he offered, ready to use the foil top as a second plate.

"Nuh uh. That's all yours, Sammy. You earned it." Dean smiled, impressed, as always, by Sam's kind heart. "I do have one more surprise for you though. You're gonna love it."

Sam's eyes widened, but he was silent as Dean opened the door and spoke to someone. A moment later, Bonnie stepped into the room, carrying a vase of what looked like wildflowers. "Hi Sam!" She squeaked, excitedly. "It's so good to see you. We were really worried about you at school!" She pulled up a chair and settled comfortably into it."

"Here," Dean reached for the flowers, "Let me get those for you, Bonnie." He showed them to Sam, grinning, and then placed them on the windowsill where they'd be visible from the bed.

Sam flushed pink and grinned, "Hi Bonnie. It's nice to see you too." He managed.

"Dean said you were in a bad car accident and got burned." Bonnie's eyes teared up. "Are you okay?"

Sam stared. "Oh! Yeah. Yeah, my back is … you know … messed up. But I'm a lot better than I was."

"I'm so sorry, Sam." Bonnie looked like she was about to cry.

"No! Hey!" Sam reached for her hand. "I'm okay, really."

Dean stood watching the interaction from the comfort of the windowsill, and he noticed how Bonnie's eyes lit up whenever Sam took her hand.

"I'm glad! Science class hasn't been the same without you."

"Oh yeah?" Sam smiled.

"Yeah, I got Reilly Jacobs for a lab partner now." She made a face. "All she cares about is whether her lipstick is on straight and do her eyebrows look like they match!"

Sam chuckled, "She asked you that?"

Bonnie nodded in disgust. "She doesn't care anything at all about biomes. We're supposed to be making a tundra diorama and she tried to put in a cottonwood tree! Can you believe it?"

"What!" Sam snorted. "No way."

"Honest! If she has her way, we'll end up getting a failing grade, but just so long as Derek notices her, that's all that matters. Just ugh! I don't think he's ever opened up a book in his life."

Sam smiled indulgently, taking another bite of his pasta.

"That smells heavenly!" Bonnie noticed. "What is that?"

Sam nodded. "It is! It's three-cheese pasta that Dean brought me. Wanna try it?"

Bonnie nodded happily, "Just a taste."

Sam sunk his fork into the pasta and speared a nice, gooey chunk, then he held it to Bonnie's mouth, smiling fondly.

The girl took it, her eyes widening. "Oh my gosh, Sam!" She said, chewing. "That's amazing!"

"Isn't it though?" Sam took another bite himself. "You want more?"

She shook her head. "No, it's yours. You eat it. Get your strength back." she said, smiling. She situated herself on the edge of his bed, then jumped back up. "Oh gosh, Sam! I'm sorry! Did that hurt your back when I jostled your bed?" She looked horrified.

Sam chuckled, "No. It's fine. You can sit there. I want you to."

She suddenly blushed and hopped back up on the bed, more carefully this time. "So, I have news!" she blurted, and secretly Dean wondered if every sentence out of Bonnie's mouth always ended in exclamation points or if it was just Sam's influence.

"Oh yeah? Is it good?"

She sobered suddenly. "Yeah. It's good. You, uh, you know those two jocks who … who gave you a hard time in the locker room that day and then spread all those lies?"

Sam blanched but nodded.

"Well, they both had attacks of conscience one day and came clean to Principal Regent. He suspended them both for the rest of the year for sexual harassment. But before he went, he made them and Alisha stand up in front of the whole class and admit they'd been lying all along. She got suspended for two weeks. I saw her crying in front of her locker as she was leaving that day, and she stopped me and tried to tell me how much she actually liked you and thought you were so cool and stuff and how she didn't know what had gotten into her to treat you like that. But boohoo, I say. And good riddance, right?" She grinned, and from his vantage point near the window, Dean secretly wanted to marry her.

Sam smiled again. "Yep, boohoo pretty much sums up my feelings too." He agreed.

"It does?" Bonnie asked, suddenly timid. "Because, I sort of thought, you know. She's so cute and blond and perky and all … you might be glad she wanted a second chance." She bit her bottom lip worriedly.

Sam saw and shook his head. "I bet she's never opened up a book in her life." He quipped.

Bonnie beamed.

"Any more news?" Sam asked, grinning.

She thought for a moment. "Oh! Yeah! Actually, there is. You know Coach Henders?"

Sam swallowed hard, "Yeah."

"Some dude followed him home from school one day and beat the heck out of him right in his own house!"

Sam's eyes turned into saucers. "What? Why? Do they know who?"

Bonnie shook her head, eyes wide. The old lady next door saw an old, noisy black car, but she didn't know her makes or models."

Sam's eyes shot to Dean, and the older boy winked. "Uh, yeah. You two catch up. I gotta go … do … something." He grinned.

"Dean …" Sam started to ask, but the older boy had already let himself out.

Bonnie sat there smiling at Sam. "I really am glad you're okay. Dean says you're not coming back to school though. He says you're moving away." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I'm gonna miss you, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, suddenly realizing just how much he was going to miss her back. "I know." He whispered. "Me too. We, uh, we gotta follow Dad's job."

And when Bonnie leaned forward nervously and closed her eyes, Sam knew enough to lean in and kiss her gently.


	33. Bobby's House

They were three hours into the twelve-hour drive to Bobby's, and Sam was feeling the burn. He reached up over the seat and touched his brother lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dean?" He said softly, guilty at having to wake his brother when he was finally sleeping soundly for the first time in days.

"Let your brother sleep, Sam. He's wiped out." John admonished quietly. "He barely slept at all back there at the clinic.

"But he has my …"

"Sam." John cut him off. "I said let him sleep." His tone left no room for argument.

Sam sat back quietly and bit his lip. The pain in his back and shoulder was beginning to crank up, and Dean had his pain meds. The rumbling of the old Impala wasn't helping either. He shifted sideways on the seat and pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face so his father wouldn't hear if he should suddenly start to sob.

It was another two hours before Dean drifted awake. He stretched luxuriously, feeling the loosening in his muscles and his mood lift from the several hours of uninterrupted sleep. He grinned over at his dad and called into the backseat. "Heya, Sammy. How ya holdin' up back there?"

When Sam didn't answer, Dean glanced back and immediately did a double-take. "Sam! What's wrong?" He barked.

His brother was sitting huddled up sideways on the seat with his face buried in his knees, rocking quietly back and forth.

"Sammy? Look at me!" Dean demanded in that tone that couldn't be ignored. And when Sam looked up, his face was wracked with pain and wet with tears. And Dean could tell he'd been crying for awhile because his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

"Dad! Stop the car!" Dean turned completely around in the seat and pulled his brother's chin toward him. "Sammy? Tell me what's wrong, kiddo."

"Need … need my pain meds, Dean. Please." The younger boy pleaded.

"Shit! What time is it?" Dean cursed, looking at his watch. "Dammit, Sam! You were due almost three hours ago. Why didn't you wake me?" He climbed out of the now stationary car and slipped into the backseat beside his brother.

"Here, little bro, take this." He said, handing over a single pill. But Sam shook his head. "Need two, Dean. Please?" He pleaded, taking the water bottle and chugging a long swallow.

Dean considered the request for a moment, relenting immediately. The kid looked almost as bad as he had back when they'd first found him. "Sure, Sammy. Here." He said, shaking out a second tablet.

Sam took them both with nearly the whole bottle of water, and gave the remainder back to Dean. "Thanks." He tried to smile, but it ended up more like a grimace, and Dean chuckled.

"Why didn't you wake me, Sasquatch?" He asked affectionately, readjusting the comforter and pillows he'd used to line the backseat for the trip to Bobby's. "You can go, Dad. We're good back here." He called up to the front seat.

Sam sighed and shrugged as the medicine begin kicking in. Without thinking, he took a pillow, plumped it soundly and dropped it in Dean's lap, sliding carefully down to rest his head there.

Dean's hand immediately buried itself in miles of floppy hair, worrying it gently like he'd done all those years ago when Sam was a still a shaky toddler instead of a teen. "Hang in there, Sammy. We'll be at Bobby's soon, and then you can get all settled in and sleep for days if you want.

John spoke up from the front seat, studying the pair in the rear view mirror. "I, uh, I'm sorry Sam. I wouldn't have stopped you from waking Dean if I'd realized he had your pain medication."

Dean's eyes went huge, and Sam could tell by the tone in his voice that he was suddenly furious. "Really, Dad? Really?" He barked.

John shrugged. "I didn't know, Dean. You could have shared that information with me, you know."

Dean glared at his father darkly in the mirror, but kept his silence. Sam needed to rest, and an argument wouldn't help right now. But he leaned down and spoke quietly to his brother.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep like that." He grumbled.

"It's okay, Dean. I know you're tired. I'm okay now. Pain's a lot better." He smiled for real this time and sighed contentedly. "You're so comfortable. And warm." He snuggled closer, and Dean snorted. Sam's low tolerance for pain meds of any kind was famous.

"You're a goofy little bitch when you're hopped up on meds, Sammy." He snickered.

"You're … jerk …" Sam slurred, and drifted off.

###

Seven hours later, the tired trio rolled up Bobby's drive and parked in front of the old hunter's rustic porch.

Before Dean could get Sam's long legs unfolded from the backseat, Bobby's mutt, Rumsfeld, was slobbering all over the younger boy.

"Ugh! Back,boy!" Dean tried to push him away. "Get back!"

"Don't, Dean!" Sam laughed for what seemed like the first time in weeks. "He just loves me. Don't you, boy?" He kissed the excited dog on the nose.

"Well, he doesn't have to love all over me too!" Dean griped, giving the mutt an affectionate pat. "Come on, let's get you out of here and into the house before you get fleas."

"He doesn't have fleas. Do you boy? Hunh? Tell mean old Dean you don't have fleas."

"Mean old Dean, hunh?" The older boy sniped. "For that remark, little brother, you get to carry your own crap." Dean piled him high with the comforter and pillows from the backseat, and Sam stumbled away toward the direction that he thought the steps lay.

But before he could take five steps, Bobby was there, unloading him and pointing him toward the house. "Got soup cooking in the kitchen, boy. It's good to see you." the old hunter said gruffly, his eyes smiling.

"Good to see you too, Bobby."

"Did I hear soup?" Dean's head peaked out from the side of the open trunk.

"Well hello to you too, Dean." Bobby joked. "Is your stomach always the first thing to arrive everywhere you go?"

Dean's eyes twinkled with mischief, "Growing boy, Bobby. What can I say?"

Bobby snorted, "You keep on eating like you do, and the only growing you'll be doing is out. Not up."

"Ladies will still love me, Bobby."

The old hunter clapped him on the back. "So you say." He turned to John. "So how's everybody holding up?"

"Everyone's good, Bobby. Thanks again for letting us hole up here til Sam's feeling better." The men shook hands.

"He looks tired." Bobby agreed. "Car trip 'bout did him in, I take it?"

John nodded, "Kid's still hurting pretty badly when his medicine wears off."

Bobby nodded. "Gonna take time, but he can stay as long as he needs to."

"That's real good to hear. So, uh, Missouri call you?"

Bobby nodded. "She did. Can't say as I believe much of what came out of her mouth though."

John shook his head. "Believe it. She's never been wrong before."

"Sam. A demon boy king." Bobby stated flatly and then snorted. "That boy ain't got an evil bone in his body, and you know it."

John Sighed. "Lot can happen in ten years."

Bobby glared. "True. But I'm pretty sure old Rumsfeld here has more chance of leading a demon army than Sam does." He scratched the mutt absentmindedly. "Does he know, by the way?"

"Sam?" John shook his head. "No way. Dean knows."

Bobby cursed, "Well, balls, John! Why'd you go and do that for? Ain't that boy suffered enough? Now you gotta go get him worried that he's gonna lose his brother too?"

"Bobby. We'll stay here because I think it's what Sam needs." John glared, "But listen up. How I raise my boys is my business."

Bobby turned, grumbling.

"You got something to say, old man? Spit it out." John called after him. But Bobby walked away, holding his tongue.

"We'll get you out of this mess, Sam." The old hunter promised himself silently. "Ain't no demons going to grab you when you're here, boy. I promise you that much."

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thanks to everyone for your kind reviews and for reading along. It's much appreciated._


	34. New Beginnings

"You good, Sam?" Dean asked, as he entered the cozy bedroom at the top of the stairs. He looked around. In true Bobby fashion, the old hunter had pulled out all the stops. The room was bright and airy with clean, fresh bedding on the bed and an abundance of fluffy towels in the bath. Dean loved this room, mostly because of the private bath. He couldn't count on the fingers of both hands how many times he and Sam had recovered here, tending each other's wounds and helping each other to and from the shower. The hunting life made for lots of injuries, and he and Sam had each seen their share. But Dean would always feel like he was coming home when he entered this room.

Sam nodded, smiling. "I love this room."

"Lots of memories here." Dean agreed, sitting down beside his brother on the edge of the bed.

"For most of them, one or the other of us was hurting." Sam noted. "You'd think we'd hate it here, hunh?"

"Nah … home cooked meals, dude."

Sam stretched and yawned. "Feels so good to be out of the car. I think my teeth are still vibrating."

"Baby does rumble." Dean said proudly. "It's part of her charm."

Sam lay carefully back on the bed, his feet still on the floor, and just drank in his environment, closing his eyes. "I feel safe here." He smiled appreciatively.

Dean stared down at him and chuckled, "You are safe here, Samantha. I'm here, right?"

Sam nodded, "You think they'll come back?"

"Who?" Dean asked absently, his mind already downstairs on the soup that was smelling better by the minute. He sniffed happily.

"The demons. Think they'll try to take me again?" Sam worried.

That brought Dean back to the present. He stared down at the boy that he'd happily die to protect. "No way, Sammy. No way are me and Dad and Bobby letting that happen ever again. You hear? Bobby's working on that right now. And no more of this sacrificial lamb crap either, or I'll kick your ass myself."

Sam smiled. "Gosh, Dean. That was moving." He snorted.

Dean punched him on the thigh, "Shut up. bitch."

Sam sat back up smiling. He loved this little game they played. He hadn't realized just how much until it was gone. "Make me, jerk." He answered appropriately. "I missed that, you know."

Dean looked confused. "What?"

"The bitch/jerk thing. Was pretty sure I'd never hear that again. I thought I was dead, Dean. Was certain of it. Soon as I stepped out the door that day, that guy Teddy was behind me with the knife to my throat." Sam remembered vividly.

Dean sat and listened, knowing that his brother needed to say this.

"They still had Dad, you know. Had the pillowcase over his head and then when they yanked it off, and he saw me standing there with the knife … and I couldn't move. Damn, Dean. The look on his face." Sam swallowed.

Dean shoulder bumped him comfortingly, 'Go on." he said softly.

"And then he said … that guy Teddy … he told Dad that he really wanted to shove a knife in his ribs but that a deal was a deal so they were letting him live. And then he told Dad …"

Sam fell silent, like he couldn't go on.

"What Sam? What did he tell Dad?"

Sam swallowed, "He told Dad that it was too bad he couldn't say the same for me." A single tear escaped then and rolled down Sam's face. "I was so scared, Dean." He whispered. "I just knew, you know? I knew it was the end, and I hadn't even gotten to try the damned pasta or … or kissed a girl … or went to a dance. None of that. And yet it was all going to end." He took a shuddering breath.

Dean squeezed his knee comfortingly, "Sammy, it's over now. You're safe. We got you back. And nobody is ever taking you from us again. You hear me? I'll never let that happen."

Sam continued like he hadn't heard. "And then came the loneliness. I never minded being alone. Not really. I mean, I've always sort of liked my own company. But when you go for days and days with no conversation, no eye contact, no acknowledgement that you matter at all to anyone … it really sucks." Sam's voice hitched. "I missed you so much, Dean." He looked over at his brother, his eyes wet. "I had a plan though." He smiled.

"Damn straight you had a plan. You're my little brother, after all." Dean answered in a choked voice.

Sam looked over at him, "Don't laugh, okay?"

Dean shook his head, "I'm not gonna laugh, Sammy."

"I was gonna be your guardian angel." Sam snorted self-consciously. "After they … did whatever they were gonna do to me, after they … ended me … I wasn't gonna turn vengeful or go toward the light or whatever happens when you die, Dean. I was gonna stay here and … and … you know, look after you and Dad. Make sure you were safe. I really think I could have found a way to do that, Dean."

Dean stared at his brother and then looked away, swiping at his face. "Sammy … you're killing me here, man." he snorted, his emotions out of control, sounding like a horse.

And Sam giggled.

Dean snorted again, unable to help himself, "Shut up, you little geek."

Sam couldn't help himself either, "Wilburrrrrrrrr …." He chanted, pawing the floor.

"Dude, did you just Wilbur me? Oh, you are so gonna get it, little brother." Dean shoved him back playfully, and Sam landed on his sore back.

"Ow!" He complained, giggling. "Ow! What kind of bedside manner is this?"

"The kind where I kick your ass as soon as that back is healed," Dean replied, relenting. "Now let's go eat some damned soup. I'm starving. And I know your sasquatch ass has to be, too. Up!" Dean said, pushing his brother gently off the bed. "Go! Stairs!"

Sam went, but he was chanting, "A horse is a horse, of course of course …"

Dean followed, "I hate you, Sam. You know that, right?"

-THE END-


End file.
